Charlie Horse
by CHOOSELIFE
Summary: Second story in the Charlie series. This story picks up five months after Drake's family returns home from vacation. Just when Drake thought his life was perfect, everything goes to shit. His addiction spirals out of control and is worse than ever. His secret's out. His family knows. Can he clean his act up? Will his family ever forgive him? Will he ever forgive himself?
1. Numb

**(Flashback - [September] - 2 months after the family returned from summer break)**

"DAD!" Josh screamed at the top of his lungs. His heart was pounding against his chest, and he felt sick to his stomach. The sudden catastrophe caused him to feel light-headed, and for a moment, he just stood there in absolute bewilderment, gazing at the horrific sight before him. He staggered backwards, completely deaf to the sound of panicked footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs.

"What?! What is it?!"

Josh opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't form any words whatsoever. His nose twitched with repulsion, his throat was dry, and all that came out was a fit of coughs as he covered his mouth with disgust.

"Oh my God... OH MY GOD!"

Audrey was right behind her husband. When she laid eyes on the scene before her, she screeched, and tears poured down her cheeks. "NOOO!"

Walter attempted to hold her back, but she shoved him away and hurried across the room.

At that time, a curious Megan slipped out of her bedroom and stepped through the doorway of her brothers' room, but that's as far as she made it. "Oh my God..."

"Josh, call an ambulance!" Walter ordered with fear in his voice as he again struggled to keep his grip on his wife.

The young man was frozen in his place. All he could do was stare at what lay before him. His eyes filled with tears that immediately started to stream down his cheeks.

"JOSH!" Walter yelled louder, snapping his son out of his trance.

"Right, um-" In his panic, he suddenly couldn't perform the simplest functions. He fought to grab his cell phone from his pants pocket. As he tried to press the numbers, he realized that he was shaking madly. "Um..." His voice cracked, but he finally composed himself enough to dial 911. He put the phone to his ear.

Each ring felt as though it lasted forever. The noise filled his ears, further enhancing his dizzied state. All he could hear was Audrey's screams and Megan's sobs and Walter's unhelpful attempts at soothing the two and that endless fucking ringing!

"San Diego Police Department. What's your emergency?"

"We need an ambulance right now!" Josh couldn't help that he was yelling into the phone. "I think my brother tried to kill himself!"

* * *

 **(Current day - [December] 5 months after the family returned from summer break)**

"Ah!" Drake hissed, pulling his hand away from his jaw as if it was a hot stove. He let go of his breath and swallowed to gain his composure. The young man clenched his teeth, then gently continued rubbing in the foundation to cover the enormous, fresh bruise on his skin.

He'd gotten over the humility of wearing make-up long ago. It's not like he ever really saw anyone he knew anyway. The only people Drake ever came into contact with were the cashiers at Walmart and his father, and he didn't give a shit about what any of them thought. He only cared about Charlie and what Charlie thought of him and how he was going to get Charlie next. That's it.

Drake dropped the small bottle of liquid foundation suddenly, then turned and speedily yanked the toilet lid up. He opened his mouth, and his vomit quietly slipped out and splashed against the liquid that was already there. He clutched his weak stomach as the bile forced its way up his esophagus and he puked up round two. He blinked as the nausea caused his eyes to water over, and when his eyes were open again, everything was suddenly different. His vision was blurry, his head was spinning, he felt absent from himself. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

The young man flushed the toilet when he was sure that he was finished, then he closed the lid and turned back to the sink. Drake picked up the foundation bottle, bending over cautiously and using the sink to steady himself. He cursed himself for not finishing earlier. Now that he was high, he wouldn't be truly sure if the make-up was spread out evenly. However, before he could make a move to fix anything, the bathroom door burst open, causing Drake to flinch and drop the bottle once again. He had no time to react before he was snatched away from the mirror and slung onto the floor.

"You're putting on your make-up, you little faggot?"

The boy clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed when his father socked him in the ribs. "Gmm!" He clutched the injured area. Since he was on his side, he used his free arm to scoot himself away. Unfortunately, he'd backed himself into the small space between the toilet and the tub, so now he was trapped.

"I know what that means. You only ever get dressed up for your precious drugs. You pathetic junkie."

"Mmm!" Drake tried to bend his knees up to his chest for protection, but he couldn't in such a small space.

"Unless you're getting dressed up for me."

Drake felt himself being dragged out of his hiding spot by his right leg and arm. He allowed it to happen. Protesting would only make things worse. He was put onto his feet, then forced to bend over the toilet. The young man rested his palms on the back of it for support, but he held his position. He hung his head as his pants were pulled down to his ankles, then waited as the sound of Martin unbuckling his own belt filled his ears. After his father's pants were down, the man spat on his hand and started to prepare himself, using his own saliva as some sort of lubricant.

Drake didn't put up a fight the entire time. He knew that it was pointless. If Martin wanted to beat the shit out of him, he would. If he wanted to rape his son, it was going to happen. Having lived here for almost the last three months, he'd become rather compliant of his father. The beatings had gotten worse. The sexual abuse had increased to almost daily sometimes. But Drake had learned to deal with all of this as long as he had Charlie.

He inhaled sharply when Martin entered him. Each thrust forced his body forwards a bit, almost causing him to ram his head against the wall.

"It would go in a lot easier if you'd just relax," Martin said. He suddenly pushed harder this time, and Drake had to place one of his palms against the wall to stop himself from hitting his skull. The man let go of a chuckle. "You like that, you little whore?"

What bothered Martin was that things never seemed to phase his son anymore. Sometimes he would say the most hurtful, vicious insults he could think of, and Drake wouldn't have any sort of reaction whatsoever. It was as if he was completely dead inside. He might as well have succeeded with his suicide attempt.

Drake closed his eyes and allowed Charlie to take him somewhere else. He pictured himself in Meelah's front yard, and the only things he could see were the bright stars above him, which were encircled by trees. He could feel the damp grass on his back and her hand intertwined in his own. Everything felt so real that he actually forgot where he was for a while. Taken in large doses, Charlie could cause vivid hallucinations, and that's what Drake loved about him most. It was the only way he ever saw Meelah anymore.

God, he missed her smile...her touch...the way she'd grin when she caught him staring at her in adoration. He should've known that it was too perfect to last. He always managed to fuck things up one way or another. Everything he touches turns to shit. No exceptions. That's why it's much easier being alone. When he isolated himself, there was no one he could feel guilty about fucking over. It was just himself and Charlie these days, and that's how he liked it.

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes!"

Drake was tugged out of his thoughts and found that his father was climaxing. It's almost over, he told himself.

"Oh, God! Ugghhhh! Aw, shit!"

Drake was repulsed when he felt Martin's warm release shoot through his backside. He felt the man leaning against him, and the weight seemed to get heavier and heavier.

"Oh, God..." Martin moaned through his pants for air.

Instead of immediately leaving like normal, however, he just rested there, forcing his son to hold up his weight. Drake felt uncomfortable in this position. All he wanted was to put on his shoes and start his long journey to Walmart, and this was using up a lot of precious Charlie time.

"Dad?" Drake said. "Can I have some money, please?"

Martin let go of a chuckle, and before the boy knew what was happening, he found himself on the floor. Drake remained there with a hung head. The best thing to do was to avoid all eye contact because anything could set his father off.

"I'm in the middle of getting off, and you're gonna ask me for money?"

"I thought you were done," he said almost inaudibly.

"I'm not done until I say I'm done! Got that?!"

"Yes, sir," Drake replied quietly, and although he didn't mean anything by it, Martin swore he detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

The man gripped his neck and suddenly yanked him up so that all of Drake's weight was on that spot. "Are you being smart with me?!"

Drake tried to stand up, but he couldn't from his position. He squeezed his eyes closed and gasped for air that wouldn't come.

"I should shove my foot up your ass!"

"Kkkk! Ghuuh!" The young man tightly gripped his father's shirt collar to alert him that he was out of air. Thankfully, he was tossed to the side after that. Drake clutched his neck as he took in a deep breath, his eyes widened from the panic. "Guuhhh! Huuh!"

Martin pulled up his pants, then buttoned them and fixed his belt. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. The man opened it and found a five dollar bill. He dropped it, and it landed on the spot right below his son's belly button. "You know, this is what you would call being a prostitute. Whoring yourself out for money."

Drake was, for the most part, past the point where Martin's words made him feel anything at all. The only thing on his mind was Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

* * *

Drake wrapped his arms around his tiny, frail torso. He balled his hands into fists and hid them inside of his jacket sleeves, taking comfort in its warmth. It was the end of September, so on top of the drop in temperature, the Triple C's always made the young man feel cold, which was strange; Mindy and Meelah had both been the opposite. Drake was almost always sick and sniffling, just like he was doing now. He had poor health and hygiene. He hadn't showered in a couple of days, so he'd placed a beanie over his hair before walking out the door.

Drake tripped suddenly, but caught himself before he fell. He looked down at the ground with blurry vision and found that it had been his jeans that had almost caused him to fall because they'd started sagging without his knowledge. He pulled them up, then continued on his way. He needed to get more jeans in a smaller size. Or a belt. That would probably be cheaper. The one he had on wasn't small enough although he'd poked his own holes into it as his weight had shrunk.

He wasn't deathly skinny. It was just noticeable enough to show that he looked rather sick, and to those who had known him before, it would seem like a drastic change.

Drake walked slower as he approached a park to his left. It was empty now, but it hadn't always been. It used to be so full of life.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Meelah laughed as the stray Labrador Retriever she'd been playing with returned to her, then dropped the stick in front of her and nudged her hand. The girl picked it up, then tossed it and smiled as the dog ran off. Just seeing her so happy made Drake grin, and he loved when she got that little spark of joy in her eyes. When she turned back to him, she started to talk, but he cut her off by pushing his lips against hers.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered before pulling away.

Meelah held his left hand in hers because he still had the cast around his wrist and the splint on his finger on his right hand. "I'm really proud of you, you know. Tomorrow, you will have been clean for a month. You should go to NA with me and get your thirty day chip."

"Eh, you know how I feel about NA."

"But how do you know? You've never been," the girl stated. "Narcotics Anonymous is supposed to help you during recovery. You should start applying the steps."

"I think I'm doing fine on my own," Drake said. "I've only had a couple relapses since I started."

Meelah agreed. "You are. And you make it look so easy. I cried everyday when I first made the decision to get clean."

"I just love you. And I don't wanna lose you again."

"I'm not going anywhere." She smiled, then leaned closer and kissed him.

Drake was in heaven every time their lips met. Even though they'd spent every waking moment together over the last several weeks, he still wasn't used to the fact that he finally had her back. The boy rested his forehead against hers, but pulled his lips away. He brushed her hair away from her cheek with his thumb.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." He reconnected their lips, but was cut short when the dog raced back over and started nudging Meelah once again.

The girl smirked, then gave the dog her attention by rubbing his fur and talking in a high-pitched voice. "Someone's jealous, aren't they?!"

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Drake sighed at the memory, then continued on his way, stopping at the edge of the side walk so that he could cross the line of cars. This road wasn't too busy, so after a few vehicles passed, he made it to the other side with ease. Sometimes he wished that someone would speed down the street and plow into him. God, he was just so tired of being alive and going through the same shit every fucking day. Wake up. Find money. Get Charlie. That's all he ever did anymore, and it was starting to not be enough. These pills didn't feel anything like they used to. Sometimes he could hardly feel them hit at all. Triple C's was a bad drug to get stuck on because the pills were so fickle. Sometimes he takes three boxes and doesn't feel shit. Sometimes he takes one and gets a pretty good high. On top of that, its availability is awful. His mood and pretty much his entire life is in the hands of Walmart, and there were times that they were out of the cough medicine for weeks. Drake was never fun to be around when that happened. He would always beg his father to drive him a couple exits up to the next Walmart. Martin always declined at first, but seeing his son so weak always changed his mind. He'd always called the boy weak during beatings, but somehow seeing him crying and shaking and balled up on the floor from fear of Martin didn't seem so weak anymore when the man compared it to what Drake looked and acted like when pleading for a ride to get his fix. _That_ was the definition of weak. Martin always granted his wish, though, because he knew that he was the same. The only thing he ever understood about his son was his addiction because he had his own to feed as well.

Across the street from the park was a small, run-down gas station. It was the type where the drunks hung out and played the gambling machines. They were supposed to receive cash vouchers for store merchandise whenever they win, but the workers would give them actual cash on the sly, which is illegal. More people tend to play, though, since they can spend their money wherever they want, and therefore, the machines bring in a good amount of business with these kinds of people.

Drake pushed open the door, which caused the bell that was hanging from the top of it to jingle. However, no one welcomed him. That's how he liked it. The workers were laid back and didn't give a shit, just like himself.

There was someone in line before him. The man had two Red Bulls and a cheap little "gift." It was a cloth rose in a glass tube, which of course wasn't a gift at all. The rose would later be extracted, and the tube would be used as a meth pipe. Of course, it would be illegal to sell meth pipes, so that's how gas stations got away with it. They just stick a fake rose inside and boom - a shitty way to tell your wife you're sorry about forgetting to pick her mother up from the airport. And hey, why not throw a little bit of meth in there while you're at it?

"Take it easy," the gas station clerk said to the customer, who then thanked him and walked out the door. "Hey, Drake." The man turned and grabbed a pack of L&M menthol 100's, then scanned them. "This is it today?"

"Yeah." Drake pulled his book bag off of his back and rummaged through in search for the Ziploc bag he'd filled with change.

"You doing alright today? You seem a little off."

"I'm fine, Ahmed."

Ahmed was a Muslim who had worked at this gas station for years. He was a pretty cool guy. He knew his customers well, and he was kind to Drake. He noticed that the young man always stopped and gazed at the park before coming inside, and he knew why, but he never said anything about it. He knew it was a sensitive subject, and Drake had never been the same since that night three and a half months ago. He used to look normal..bright...happy. Now he seemed exhausted all the time, he was clearly clouded by drugs, and he never smiled. Ahmed had seen this transformation in many of his customers, so he never pried or judged. However, there was something about Drake that made him different. To the boy's family, he was considered strung out, but to Ahmed, he wasn't as far gone as he looked. There was still potential in him, and Ahmed had every bit of confidence that he would straighten his life out someday. He just had to accept what had happened and learn to value himself as a person again.

"I just warmed up the hot dogs if you want to fix yourself one."

"Thanks."

Ahmed knew that Drake hated being pitied enough to be offered handouts, so he always approached the situation as if giving out free hot dogs was normal for him. It's just that Drake seemed rather malnourished. Sure, whatever drug he was using probably had a lot to do with it, but Ahmed noticed the bruises that the boy tried to cover up. Drake was the victim of a bad home situation, and Ahmed's heart was too big to just sit idly by and let this kid think he was alone. Drake probably wasn't aware, but he himself had a big heart, too.

 ***FLASHBACK***

 _Ding!_ Drake slipped through the door. He glanced over at the counter, where a large truck driver was standing in line. He was clearly filled with annoyance at the Muslim cashier, but Drake walked on past and went over to the grill. He hadn't eaten in a couple days thanks to his asshole father, who had locked him in the basement for the weekend. The second he was let out, he grabbed all the change out of his piggy bank and headed off to the gas station. He always saved every bit of change he got back because that's what got him through when he was tapped out.

Drake opened the drawer and grabbed out a warm hot dog bun, then he picked up the tongs and chose a wiener. God, he was so hungry that his mouth was already watering. He could probably eat three of these. If only he had the money... Drake moved over to the condiments and added spicy mustard. Charlie had numbed a lot of his taste buds, so regular mustard wouldn't have been all that noticeable. Next, he squirted a bit of relish on there for the sweet, juicy taste, then he wrapped it up and walked over to the counter.

"I came in here for a hot cup of joe. Now that's what I want, god damn it." The large man was still at the counter, and he was talking to the cashier rather rudely.

"Sir, you'll have to wait a couple minutes for a fresh pot of coff-"

"Isn't your job to make sure that you make a new pot of coffee when this one gets low? And look at this shit." He showed the man his cup. "It's full of coffee grounds. I'm on a tight schedule, and I'm gonna be late because you aren't competent enough to do your job."

"I have a fresh pot being made now. It will be ready in about five minutes."

"I don't think you're understanding me. I don't have five minutes. I'm already late as it is."

"And whose fault is that?"

The trucker squinted his eyes, then spoke in a hard voice. "Listen here, you little wise ass cunt. Why don't you take your terrorist ass back to your own country and fuck shit up there like the rest of you?"

Drake stepped in then because, although the comment hadn't been directed at him, this guy's ignorance still pissed him off. "Man, chill out. That's uncalled for."

The trucker turned to him. "You're gonna stand up for this guy? You're just as dumb as he is."

"Bro-"

"Don't ' _bro_ ' me." And that's when the guy put his hands on Drake and shoved him back as if to tell him to stay out of his business.

Drake felt his blood boiling. He hated being pushed around, and this time, it was someone he could stand up to. The young man snatched the trucker's cup of coffee away from him, then splashed it onto his face. The large man wailed with pain. Drake had expected it to be a lot colder than it actually was since that was this guy's complaint. It wasn't scalding hot, but it did burn a bit. However, Drake was too pissed to apologize.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

The cashier had seen that things were escalating pretty rapidly, so he had walked around to the other side of the counter, and just as the trucker wound his fist back, the Muslim stepped in and grabbed it. "I think you should leave."

The large man glared at Drake, then at the cashier and back again before yanking his wrist out of the worker's grip. "Don't think your manager won't be hearing from me."

"I own this store. Feel free to talk to me if you have any complaints."

The man scowled as he whipped around and stalked out the door.

"Fucking prick." Drake was still riled up.

The cashier turned to him. "Thanks for that. It was nice of you to step in."

Drake gave a curt nod, then averted his eyes humbly. When he did this, he noticed the coffee that was spilled on the ground.

The cashier saw what he was looking at and spoke up. "Don't worry about it. I'll get it."

"I can clean it up-"

The man held up his hand to silence him. "I will have no such thing. It is I who owe you." He held out his hand. "My name is Ahmed."

"Drake." He shook it. "I'm sorry about him-"

"No need to apologize. I know that all white people are not the same, just as we Muslims are not the same."

"Right," Drake nodded. "I can't believe people actually act like that in public to people they don't even know." He set his hot dog down onto the counter, then pulled out some change.

"No, no. It's on me."

Drake paused. "No, it's okay. I mean, I have the money." He was always embarrassed when he paid with a bunch of coins, especially when all he was getting was food. He knew he came off as pathetic.

Ahmed picked up the coins and placed them onto the boy's palm, then closed Drake's hand and held his gaze. "You did a good deed. I'm just returning the favor."

"Are you sure? I have the money," he said again to assure him that he wasn't some broke loser.

"I'm sure. Allah has blessed me and now I must bless you through Him."

"Gee, thanks." Although he sounded rather sarcastic, he was truly baffled that someone would do this for him. He just didn't know how to express it.

"We need more brave young men like you."

And with those words, Drake actually smiled with gratitude. He was used to being called _weak_ , so this was a nice change, and he wasn't sure how to accept the compliment.

Ahmed picked up the wrapped hot dog, then put it into Drake's hand and patted his shoulder. "You feel free to come back anytime. Food's on me."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Drake was the only guy who had bothered to learn the correct pronunciation of Ahmed's name, and that alone touched his heart. He was open-minded and absent of judgement. Drake was a special young man, and he wished all the best for him.

Drake counted out his quarters. "Is it okay if I grab a hot dog today?" He always asked even though Ahmed had repeatedly told him that he didn't need to.

"Of course."

When he finished paying the man for his cigarettes, he went over to the grill and started making himself lunch. Or was it still breakfast? With that thought, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone, but found that it was missing. He patted down his jeans, then realized that he'd left it at home. "Shit," he whispered. "Hey, Ahmed, do you have the time?"

"Ten 'til twelve. You have plans today?"

"Not really. What about you? What time do you get off?"

"Six."

"Shit. Don't you get here at, what, eight?"

"Seven-thirty."

"Damn."

"Jobs are a lot of fun," Ahmed said sarcastically. "You should get one."

"Ha!" Drake made his way back over to the man. "I wouldn't last one day." He leaned against the counter and took a bite of his hot dog.

"Have you ever had a job?"

"Not really. I mean, I babysat for my aunt, but as far as an actual job goes, no."

"Babysitting sounds fun. I love children."

"Yeah, I thought I'd hate it, but God, I absolutely adore those kids."

"Why'd you stop?" Ahmed questioned.

Drake paused and took a bite from his hot dog so that he could mull it over before replying. "I ended up in the hospital, and she found someone else while I recovered."

"What happened?"

Drake stuck with the story he gave everyone else. "I was jumped while walking home one night. Broke my nose, my wrist, my pinkie, pulled my arm out of socket, and fractured a rib." The boy showed him the scar on his wrist where they had inserted a metal plate. "The doctor told me I wouldn't be able to play guitar anymore."

"You play guitar?"

"I did. I picked up my guitar for the first time in months the other week. I can't even get to the notes without bothering my wrist."

"Look at this." Ahmed turned and pulled up the back of his shirt to show off the gunshot wound that was just to the right of his spine.

"Holy shit." Drake examined it closer because he'd never seen one in real life.

"It happened here actually. Someone robbed me."

"Damn."

It was good to hear some sort of interest and enthusiasm in the boy's voice because he rarely did anymore. "My doctor told me that I wouldn't be able to walk again, but here I am. I made a full recovery. Thanks to Allah." He pulled his shirt back down and looked at Drake again. "So don't you worry. I believe you'll make a full recovery, too."

"I hope so." When Drake was finished with his hot dog, he tossed the wrapping into the nearby trash can. "Alright, I'm gonna head out. See ya, Ahmed."

"See you later, Drake."

The bell dinged as Drake opened the door. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then turned them upside-down and hit them against his palm a couple times to pack them. He took a few steps over to the trash can, then peeled off the paper. After he picked out a cigarette, he fished for his lighter and held his right hand over the end of the cigarette to block the flame. Next, he started his journey to get Triple C's. Once again, his eyes moved towards the park across the street. Every single day, he passed by this park on his way to Walmart, and every single day, he thought about her.

* * *

Drake had taken the long way around to the pharmacy because he was in no rush to get back home. He didn't go out often, other than his daily Walmart trip, so this was always his chance to get fresh air. As he made his way around the store, he stopped by the office supplies. He wasn't sure why; he didn't plan on buying a can of dust-off. It was just a habit to look. He just needed to know that it was there for emergencies, and it was.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake looked up at the night sky as he rested his head on his arm, and he let go of his breath. Nighttime was always the hardest. Darkness just brought out the drug cravings in Drake. He'd spent so many nights alone in his dark room fucked out of his mind that the nighttime had become a Charlie trigger. At the same time, though, he liked the night better. It was much quieter. There was no one left at the park besides himself, Meelah, and an empty picnic basket. Drake looked over at the girl. She'd been rather quiet for the past ten minutes now.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I just miss it. You know?"

Drake looked away. He knew exactly what she meant. She missed getting high. God, and so did he. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't get himself to say the comforting and supportive words that he knew he should.

"Once you quit, you're never quite as happy as you were when you used," Meelah said. "Sometimes I don't even want to get out of bed."

Drake pulled her closer to him, so she wrapped her arm around his stomach. "What can I do to make you happy?"

"I wish I knew."

Drake closed his eyes. He knew this would most likely end in a fight, but God, it was worth a shot, right? "Do you want me to run and get a can?"

"Drake..." But it wasn't a no.

"We'll just take a couple hits and throw the rest away. Just to get this feeling out of our system. And then we'll be okay. We'll feel better," Drake said. "For old time's sake."

"This is a really bad idea," said Meelah. "It's been months since I last used."

"The can was never a problem. Charlie was. This hardly counts." Drake knew that he was pushing too hard, but he needed something now. He was going to use tonight with or without his girlfriend, but if he convinced Meelah to do it with him, then she'd only be disappointed with herself and Drake would be in the clear. "It'll be fine. I'm right here. I won't let you lose control again. And you have me. And I have you. We'll be alright."

Meelah sighed.

"Don't you trust me?"

"I do," she replied, then hesitated for a moment more before continuing. "Fuck it. Let's do it."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

"God damn it," Drake whispered to himself.

Normally, he wasn't one to stop and stare when he was getting his Triple C's, but Walmart was out of them, and now he needed a new plan. He moved his eyes to the white and purple box of Coricidin. It was almost six bucks per box. He only had five dollars. Originally, he'd planned to come here and get two boxes of Triple C's, but now he couldn't even afford one. Drake glanced around to see if anyone was watching him. He lifted his thumb nail and chewed on it with contemplation. The longer he waited, the sketchier it was; he knew he couldn't keep standing here. It was obvious that he was on drugs, and dilly-dallying around in front of the cough medicine only meant trouble. Drake reached down to the bottom shelf and grabbed the box of Coricidin. He turned and started to slip the box inside of his waistband, but his shoulder was grabbed.

Drake closed his eyes and silently cursed, but when he turned around, he wasn't met by a store clerk or a police officer.

"Drake?"

Realizing that he hadn't been caught, Drake quickly fixed his shirt so that it covered the box. He cleared his throat, then averted his eyes and sniffled. "Hey, Josh. What's up?"

His brother glanced at the part of his shirt that he'd pulled down in a hurry, then looked at him suspiciously. However, he said nothing about it. It took him a moment to actually speak. Drake could see his gears spinning as he contemplated on how he should greet him. Nothing seemed right, and Josh was acting as though one wrong word would have his step-brother running out of his life once again.

Josh decided on, "How are you?" _Simple enough, right?_

Drake shrugged. "I'm okay."

Josh disagreed as he examined him up and down. "You don't look too well."

Drake had lost a lot of weight since he'd last seen him. His clothes were baggy, and Josh would've sworn he hadn't eaten in weeks. With the weight loss came sunken cheeks, and his face was pale from all the time he spent in his room getting high with the lights off. Drake's hair was an oily, tangly mess partially hidden under his beanie, and there was stubble under his chin. And was that a huge bruise on his jaw that he'd attempted to cover with make-up? However, what really tugged at Josh's heart the most were his eyes. They were dilated, like always, and there were dark circles under them from a lack of sleep. His eyes, which were once childlike and had the power to light up a room, were dead, just like his unenthusiastic voice. He'd really let himself go, and Josh couldn't believe the drastic change that he was seeing.

"Why have you been ignoring our calls?" Josh questioned. "We're all really concerned about you."

"I'm fine," was all that Drake said, eyeing every passerby to see if anyone was coming for him. Now that he had the pills, he was ready to get out of there before he really _did_ get caught.

"Mom wants to know if you're coming home for Christmas."

"I don't know yet."

Josh could tell that he wasn't at all invested in the conversation; his brother couldn't even make eye contact. "She really wants you to be ther-"

Drake cut him short. "She kicked me out. Remember?"

"Drake, you had her stuck in this place where she was scared to allow you to use because you might get hurt and scared to tell you that you couldn't because you might try to kill yourself again."

"So this was her solution? Kicking me out?"

"She wanted you to see how hard it would be on your own. She thought you would come back."

"Well, that plan didn't work out too well, did it?" Drake said bitterly. "Now look at me. I'm a fucking mess."

"We can help you," Josh offered desperately. "Just try to clean yourself up and come home."

"She's just gonna send me off to rehab. That's how she handles things. She finds the problem, and she gets rid of it. She'll send me away just like she did when I was younger," he said, referring to the time his parents had divorced and he'd gone through a bout of crippling depression.

"You needed help," Josh justified.

"I was thirteen, and she locked me away in some mental hospital."

Josh knew that he was bitter although his monotonous voice didn't show it. "She makes a place for you at the table every night thinking that maybe you'd come home. Sometimes she even forgets that you're gone. She misses you. We all do."

Drake felt bad that he hadn't returned any of their efforts to reach him. They didn't even know he was staying with his father. He didn't want them to see him like this. It was degrading.

"Look, Josh, I gotta go." Drake started to walk past him.

"Let me just...give you some money."

Drake closed his eyes to keep his tears back with those words, but he stopped because he really needed it. Josh knew that he was planning on walking out of the store without paying for his Triple C's, and he didn't want his brother to get arrested for shoplifting. He hoped that he didn't spend it all on drugs because Drake looked severely malnourished. Josh pulled a twenty out of his wallet. Just so he wouldn't look desperate, Drake refused, but he knew that Josh would force him to take it, and he did.

"I owed you for something a while back that I never paid you back for," Josh lied to make them both feel better about the situation.

"Thanks," Drake said, placing the bill inside of his pocket.

"You know you're welcome at home any time," Josh offered, but Drake declined.

"I think I'm okay." He then turned and started walking away, mortified about this entire thing, but Josh's next words made him come to a sudden halt.

"Meelah wouldn't have wanted this, you know."

 ***FLASHBACK***

"MEELAH! MEELAH, WAKE UP! Oh, God," Drake choked as the tears flooded his cheeks. He slowly leaned over and rested his forehead on her still stomach. "Please, don't do this now. AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE BEEN THROUGH, YOU CAN'T DO THIS NOW!" His back jerked with each sob. His voice cracked when he said, "God, please. I can't do this without you."

Drake could hear sirens in the distance. _Fucking finally!_ It felt like he had called them an hour ago. He pushed himself up to his feet and ran towards the road. It was dark, and they had been in a slightly hidden location at the park to avoid cops.

"Hey!" Drake waved his arms in the air. "Over here!" He squinted at the bright, flashing lights, for his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He knew he was a terrible sight. His face was puffy, snot was dripping down his nose, and his eyes were red from crying.

A couple of paramedics hopped out of the ambulance as soon as it stopped and followed Drake to the spot where an unmoving Meelah lay.

"What happened?" the younger one asked after noticing the can of dust-off.

Drake was scared for her life, so he was mostly honest, and he spoke rapidly, making him almost incomprehensible. "We were getting high, and I blacked out, and when I woke up, she was like this. She won't wake up."

What he didn't say was how long she had been unresponsive for. To be honest, he had no idea. He'd kept taking large hits from the dust-off, so after each hit, he would black out for a short (but also unknown to him) amount of time (most likely somewhere between ten seconds to two minutes). Each time he came to, he found her blacked out, so he'd just assumed that she had just recently taken a hit and was constantly blacking out like he had been. It wasn't until he finished the entire can and attempted to snap her back into reality that he realized that Meelah had stopped breathing.

"I don't have a pulse," the gray-haired man said.

Drake's heart dropped. He was hit with a wave of nausea. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh my God..."

The older one started doing chest compressions. "Starting CPR. Prep the AED."

The other one stood and opened his bag, then pulled out a small machine. "Young man, we're gonna need you to step back."

Drake didn't want to leave her side. "But-"

"Step back."

The boy obeyed. "Please, help her."

Meelah's shirt was pulled off, and since her bra contained metal wiring, they removed it, then started placing two pads in preparation to shock her heart. The older man continued CPR.

"Oh my God..." Drake put his shaking hand over his mouth, then took another step back, but this time, his legs gave out and he fell onto the grass, watching in horror. "God, please don't let her die. Please."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

 _I eat my dinner in my bathtub_  
 _Then I go to sex clubs_  
 _Watching freaky people gettin' it on_  
 _It doesn't make me nervous_  
 _If anything I'm restless_  
 _Yeah, I've been around and I've seen it all_

Martin turned the can upside-down over his mouth to get every last drop that he could. He belched, then pushed himself to his feet. He needed another beer, and he had to pee. He decided to head towards the bathroom first. It wasn't until he stood that he realized how badly he had to go. He sped across the hall and pushed open the door, and once inside, he found his son. Martin set his empty beer can down on the counter after noticing the ones on the floor that surrounded Drake, then he stood in front of the toilet and unzipped his pants. As he relieved himself, he glanced back at the pathetic boy. Drake was in a completely different world at the moment. His head was leaning against the edge of the tub, and vomit had made a river going down both the inside and the outside of it.

 _I get home, I got the munchies_  
 _Binge on all my Twinkies_  
 _Throw up in the tub_  
 _Then I go to sleep_  
 _And I drank up all my money_  
 _Dazed and kinda lonely_

It hardly phased Martin. He found Drake in similar ways as this a lot. As long as he was still breathing, the man let him be. When he finished up, he zipped his jeans flushed the toilet, then spun around and stepped over his son. He turned on the faucet, put soap on his hands, and started washing them. As he did this, he lifted his eyes and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He took after his mother when it came to his looks, which was fine with him. Martin hated his father anyway. He was a drunk prick. He had acted a lot like Martin did now. Maybe it was heredity that the man ended up like this. And Drake would end up the same way. And his kids. And their kids. After what Martin had gone through in his childhood, he always wondered why he would put his son through the same thing and not want Drake to have a better life. After Drake's betrayal and the divorce and the alcoholism, Martin had somewhat lost himself. Plus, it didn't help that Drake looked an awful lot like his father. He couldn't get back at him because his dad was dead now, so he took it out on Drake, and admittedly, that felt just as good. His entire life was a fucking train wreck, but with this, he finally had some sort of control.

It was crazy how different Drake and Martin actually were. When he thought about his past, Martin was embarrassed about how quickly he would give in and beg. Drake wasn't like that. He had always fought and spat bratty remarks even though he knew it would be worse for him. He wanted to keep his dignity. And even now, Martin still felt like he was losing against his son because Drake didn't react at all anymore. He just accepted it and moved on. It was as if he wasn't even affected by it. He'd always called Drake weak when, in actuality, he was the weaker of the two, and knowing that fact always enraged him more when he looked at the boy. However, although Drake was mentally stronger, Martin made up for it with his physical strength, and it made him feel better to see that look of pain on Drake's face and know that he had caused it. Martin - that weak little child - suddenly wasn't so weak anymore.

 _You're gone and I gotta stay_  
 _High all the time_  
 _To keep you off my mind_  
 _Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh_  
 _High all the time_  
 _To keep you off my mind_  
 _Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh_  
 _Spend my days locked in a haze_  
 _Trying to forget you babe_  
 _I fall back down_  
 _Gotta stay high all my life_  
 _To forget I'm missing you_  
 _Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh_

A faint jingle filled the man's ears. He quickly turned off the sink, then wiped his hands off with a washcloth and went back to his room. He picked up his cell phone, and once he swiped to answer, the ringtone stopped.

"Hello?" He made his way to the bathroom again, slower this time.

"Hey, how are you?" It was Audrey.

"I'm alright. I was just about to find something on TV. What about yourself?" He quietly began gathering up the cans of Bud Light and empty boxes of Triple C's so that he could take them into the kitchen and throw them away.

"Not good," she admitted hesitantly.

"Still worried about Drake?"

"I just wish I knew where he was," she said.

"Yeah, me, too." Martin sat down on the toilet seat with his eyes on his son. "I'm sure he's okay wherever he is, though."

"Josh ran into him today at Walmart. He was buying those pills. He said he looked really bad."

Martin heard her voice crack, and it actually broke his heart that she worried so much over someone who didn't deserve her tears. "Drake has to make his own choices, and he's gotta learn from his mistakes. I'm sure he's staying with some friends that are keeping an eye on him."

"Or he could just be sleeping in a dark alley somewhere."

"Audrey, you shouldn't jump to conclusions like that. He was a popular guy and he had a lot of friends. Trust me. Someone took him in."

She sighed. She wanted to believe it, but the mother in her worried too much. "I just want my baby boy to come back home."

"I know. He will someday. He's just going through a lot that he doesn't know how to handle. Especially after Meelah died. He's looking for help in all the wrong places, and he's gonna realize that someday soon. He's gonna come back to you. I know he will."

"I hope you're right," said Audrey. "Anyway, I was just calling to let you know that Josh saw him. Our son's still alive," she said with a slight bitter sarcasm, sad by the fact that she didn't always know that he was safe anymore.

"Thanks. Keep me updated, okay?"

"Likewise. Bye, Martin."

He smiled when he heard her say his name. "Bye, Audrey." The man hung up the phone, then sighed and looked down at his drug-addled son. "You ungrateful little shit," he whispered with pity rather than anger.

* * *

Molly giggled when she saw Drake reach into the top drawer of her nightstand and retrieve a pair of fuzzy, pink handcuffs. _Cute_ , she thought. _He thinks I'm gonna let him be the dominant one._ She knew that the boy knew her little games. He knew that she would tease him until it hurt and that sometimes, she'd even leave him unattended to. Not this time. This time, he was staying a step ahead. Just as he started to put her wrist in the cuff, she violently forced him into his back, then leaned over him and viciously bit his bottom lip. Drake responded by yanking her hair roughly, just the way she liked it. As her head was held away from him, she gazed down at the boy. His eyes were half-closed and full of lust. His lip was bleeding. He was sweating, and he was breathing hard although no actual penetration had been made yet. Her fingernails had dug deep lines into the skin on his back that traced all the way to his sides, and his face clearly displayed the mixture of pain and pleasure that he was feeling. She rubbed her hands down his torso until she came to his weak spot - his rib cage. It didn't hurt nearly as much as it used to, but when she would bare down on it, sometimes he could scream, and the first person to scream would be on the bottom.

Drake's breathing hitched as a sharp pain shot up his body, but he didn't make a sound. His eyes moved down to her chest, where he saw teeth marks and bruises. It was a strange thing - the way that pain and pleasure could intermingle and become one. And eventually, you get so used to it that you can't tell where one begins and the other ends anymore.

Drake lifted his chin to look above him at the head of the bed when he heard a metallic _click_ bring him out of his thoughts. His left hand was locked, but as she wrapped the chain that connected one cuff to the other around one of the bars on the headboard, the boy put up a fight. To immediately cease his struggle, she balled up her fist and slugged his rib cage.

"Mmm!" He bit his lip, then clutched the injured area, but in his weakened state, she grabbed his right wrist and pinned it against the mattress just above his head, then locked it into place.

"That was almost a scream."

"Almost," Drake emphasized, his breath hitching again with each inhale.

"Don't worry. I've got just the thing." She smiled mischievously, then pushed herself out of the bed.

Drake watched her as she nakedly moved over to the closet. She bent over, her back to the boy, as she dug around in the corner, tossing old jeans and shoes out of her way. Moments later, she came back with a rope. Again, she grinned, then grabbed the young man's left foot and quickly tied a tight knot around it. She yanked it closer to her, dragging him towards the foot of the bed until the handcuffs wouldn't allow him to go any further. Next, she wound the rope around the outside of the left, then right bedposts, then she tied the very opposite end of the rope around his right ankle. When she finished, she stepped back and examined her work. Drake had absolutely no moving room whatsoever. He tried to fight against the cuffs and the ropes, but they were both secured so tightly that his skin was beginning to be rubbed raw. Without another word, she gave a satisfied smile, then left the room.

"Molly?" Drake called after her. "Where are you going?"

Not another one of her stupid fucking games. His could feel his erect member pulsating. It was started to hurt. He needed to stick his dick inside of something NOW. His hips involuntarily began pumping the air a couple times.

"Get back here, you fucking bitch!" He knew it wouldn't hurt her feelings; she liked being called names during sex. He fought his restraints and squirmed around, but it was no use. "Oh, God," he whispered as the level of pain grew.

When she finally returned with two cups, one steaming and one not, she laughed at his discomfort.

"Come on," he pleaded. "Fuck, it hurts."

Molly set the cups down on the nightstand, and now that they were closer to his nose, Drake could smell the scent of coffee. The woman climbed on top of him, then slid her hands up the inside of his thighs slowly. His legs twitched with pleasure.

"Oh God," he whispered again, his hips bucking in a rapid pattern.

"Calm down, cowboy," she said in a sexy voice, then she reached over and picked up the steaming cup. She filled her mouth with coffee, then set the cup back down.

Drake noticed that she never swallowed it, and he knew what she was planning when she gave him that mischievous grin again. "Don't."

Molly then started leaning forwards.

"Don't! Molly, fuckin' don't!"

She ignored him as she wrapped her lips around his erect penis, some of the hot coffee dripping from her lips and down the sensitive skin.

"Ahh! Gahh!" He felt her lips form a smirk around his member, for now that he'd screamed, they knew who would be on the bottom. Drake held his breath as he tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes closed. He clenched his toes tightly. "Gmm," he moaned. And then he felt her swallow the bit of coffee that was in her mouth. He took comfort in the gentle strokes of her tongue as she licked up the remaining droplets, cleaning him off as if he were a cat.

"Please," he said breathily, urging her to finally allow him to start penetration.

However, she had other things in mind. Molly grabbed the other cup, then pulled out an ice cube. She pushed it against the boy's chest. She smiled as she watched him shiver, then she slowly moved it down the middle of his torso. Drake attempted to shrink himself against the bed as if trying to get away from the cold, but he couldn't get anywhere. Finally, she allowed the cube to rest on his belly button. She reached up and connected their lips. He closed his eyes, but he was distracted by the coldness of the ice cube on his stomach. Molly moved closer and pushed her tongue in between his lips. Drake moaned. The woman felt Drake's heavy breathing as his stomach lifted up and touched hers for brief moments at a time. His torso was covered in a mixture of his own sticky sweat and the sweat from the ice cube.

At that moment, she started to lift herself, but Drake moved his head higher with hers, silently begging her not to depart from him again. He was ready for action, and the longer he waited, the more pain he was in. To stop his feeble attempts, Molly roughly snatched the top of his hair back, forcing his head against the pillow. He gasped with surprise at the sudden pain, his breathing rapid and short now as he gazed up at her, completely vulnerable.

"God, fucking please," he said again, earning a slap across his cheek. His head was turned with the force of the blow, and his ears were ringing as the sound of the loud smack filled his ears. His cheek stung, but he had no way of offering it comfort.

Molly kissed his chest, then moved her lips down his torso, giving out more kisses every so often. When she made it to his belly button, she wrapped her lips around the ice cube, then started guiding it over the line of hair that led to his most private area.

Drake's stomach caved in, and he let go of his air in staccato breaths to prevent moving and causing himself more pain as the ice travelled lower and lower. "Ha! Ah! Gah!"

Once again, her lips wrapped around his penis, but this time, with something cold in her mouth instead of hot. The ice move around, adding no comfort to his scalded skin.

"Ah! Ha ha!" Drake clenched his teeth, then repeatedly blew air out of his pursed lips in a speedy manner. Focusing on this helped him not think about that mixture of excruciatingly torturous pleasure he was feeling currently.

Molly used her tongue and guided the ice up closer to his tip, pleased with herself as she heard the boy lose his composure.

"Oh, God. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck." Drake tightly gripped the bars on the headboard until his knuckles became white. "Please, Molly! You fucking win! Please, just fuck me already!"

Upon hearing his defeat, she lifted herself up with the ice cube in her mouth, giving in to his pleads. She repositioned herself so that she had a knee on either side of his hips. Molly leaned over and gave the young man a quick kiss just to pass off the ice cube. Drake immediately turned his head and spat it to the side, ignoring the sound as it rolled off the mattress and onto the hardwood floor.

"Come on," Drake urged again, his eyes half-closed as he lifted his head and pushed his lips against hers.

Their tongues danced together perfectly. As much as Molly liked to tease, she needed it just as desperately. Drake could tell by the way her hands travelled up and down his body fervently, for she was unsure where she wanted to touch him first. She straightened, dragging her long fingernails down his torso, then dropped herself right on top of him. She let go of a relieved gasp while Drake grunted, then urged her to moved faster by thrusting his hips in sync with hers.

* * *

Drake entered his father's house slowly, then leaned his back against the door as he quietly shut it. It had been a grueling walk from Molly's to Walmart and then to here. The sex had been fucking amazing, but it had left him in a lot of pain.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Martin said as he approached him.

"Nothing," Drake said quietly.

His voice was always meek around him these days. Now that he lived here for an indefinite amount of time, he couldn't just bark back freely like he normally would. No one was going to save him this time. He had to make the best of his living arrangement because it wasn't going to change any time soon.

Martin eyed him suspiciously, then reached for the strap of Drake's backpack. "Have you gotten your paycheck yet?"

"No."

Drake pushed himself against the door again so that his bag was stuck between it and himself, but Martin grabbed him and snatched the pack away. Unfortunately, it wasn't closed, and the man turned it upside down in his struggle, so a couple boxes of cough medicine dropped into the floor.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake was exhausted, but he knew that it wasn't a good idea to sleep here. He forcefully pushed himself to a sitting position, then listened to make sure that the shower was still on. Molly had disappeared into her bathroom some time ago, and now was as good of a time as any.

The young man pushed himself out of bed. He grabbed his boxers and slipped them on. He glanced towards the room that she'd gone into, then moved over to the closet, which is where her Coach purse was hanging from a doorknob. He grabbed it, then rummaged through her things until he found her wallet. He opened it. There were a couple of shiny credit cards that her husband paid for. She had forty dollars in cash. Drake grabbed a ten, then checked to make sure that the bathroom door was still closed. With that confirmed, he slipped the wallet back inside of the purse, then found his jeans and put them on.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Martin was silent for a moment as he looked down at the drugs on the floor. "You know I don't wanna see this shit."

Drake was quick to scoop up the boxes. Martin never stopped him. He was fully aware that this was going on, but he didn't like seeing it because then he was reminded about just how much of a loser his son was and just how shitty of a dad he was for not caring enough to put a stop to it.

"Sorry," the boy said.

And he was. All he had to do was keep the pills hidden, and then nothing would come between himself and Charlie. His father was giving him that, so obeying that simple rule was the least he could do in return.

"Where's your paycheck?"

"Is...today Saturday?" Drake squinted his eyes in sincere thought, but Martin didn't believe that he'd forgotten his payday.

The man grabbed the side of his neck, then slammed his head against the door, causing his son's heart to start racing at Martin's sudden surge of anger. "Listen, boy," he spat, inching his face closer. "I give you shelter. I give you food and water. I provide a bed and clothes. I turn my back when you're getting high off of those pills. Paying me back is the least you could do in return."

"I know. And I appreciate that."

He did. He couldn't go home. Charlie wasn't allowed there. Charlie wasn't really accepted anywhere else but here, and he was willing to endure whatever he had to in order to keep the love of his life by his side.

"It must've just slipped my mind," he said, his jaw crushing under the weight of Martin's tight grip. "I'll get it tomorrow when I go into work."

"This better not happen again. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir." Drake clutched his jaw when he was let go, and he rubbed the aching skin.

"You can start on dinner after you finish the laundry."

"Okay," Drake said submissively. He cautiously took a step past his father, then another and another until he was in the clear. Before he started on his chores, he went into the bathroom to take his "medicine."

* * *

Drake took a seat on the couch, his feet curled up beneath him. He had found a slightly expired can of Chef Boyardee Ravioli hidden away on the top shelf of one of the cabinets. They didn't have as much chicken as he'd originally thought, and of course Martin had hogged it all and left Drake to fend for himself, so this was his dinner. He couldn't taste it anyway because of his drug use, but he knew he needed something in his stomach. He couldn't shake the way Josh had looked at him. He needed to get some of that weight back so it wasn't as obvious to people he was passing by that he was a drug addict.

Drake glanced to his right when he felt Martin's presence in the doorway to the living room. By the look on his face, he knew Martin was mad about something. "What?" he asked in a feeble voice finally after waiting several seconds in silence for the man to speak first.

Martin stomped forwards threateningly, causing his son to flinch, and he pointed backwards with his thumb. "Beat it."

Drake didn't have to be told twice. He stood and went the long way around the coffee table to avoid Martin as the man made his way to the couch. He glanced at his father, who seemed to be more upset than he was angry. Drake couldn't help but feel somewhat sympathetic. In his eyes, Martin was always strong and dominating and untouchable, so seeing him so down now made everything feel off somehow.

"Are you okay?" he asked curiously with a meek voice.

Martin hated being so vulnerable, and he swore he heard a bit of satisfaction in his son's voice although it wasn't actually there. He pushed himself off of the couch. Drake flinched again when the man's hand came towards him, but instead of making contact with his skin, it knocked the bowl out of his hand.

"I said _piss off_!"

Drake was shoved backwards. He fell, but immediately pushed himself out of the floor and scurried into his room with hopes that he wasn't being followed. Unfortunately, he was. Martin blasted through the door before the boy had fully shut it, then grabbed the left side of Drake's face in a tight grip. He then started forcing the boy into the kitchen.

"You clean that shit up!" He shoved him hard, causing the young man to fall against the counter and knock a few things onto the floor.

Drake's hands fumbled for the roll of paper towels, then he made his way back to the spilled ravioli.

Martin was right behind him. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are that you think I'm about to clean up after you! You're not about to make my house a train wreck, you filthy junkie!"

Drake's muscles were tense and his shoulders were raised in hopes that it would offer some sort of protection for his head as he scooped his dinner back into its bowl. He hated being on his knees at his father's feet. He was too much of an easy target there. However, Martin left him alone and made his way back over to the couch, mumbling a few rage-fueled insults about his ungrateful son.

Drake despised that sudden rush of adrenaline he felt when his father started yelling. He hated the rapid heartbeat, the quick breaths, the numbness in his fingers, the fear coursing through his veins. It felt as if he lived half of his life in fight-or-flight mode, but he never chose fight. He was always running. Always hiding. Always.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Thirteen year old Drake sniffled as he closed his suitcase. He wiped the tear that had fallen down his cheek, sniffled again, then reached around and zipped up the bag. Ha! As if he ever got the luxury of changing his clothes when he stayed with his father. It was all for show. No one could know what he went through at that house. Or else...

"Knock knock." Audrey leaned against his bedroom door. "You all set?"

He kept his back to her so she couldn't see that he was crying. "Yeah."

She could still heard sadness in his voice. "Cheer up, honey. You'll be back before you know it."

"I don't see why Megan doesn't have to go, too."

"Martin wants to spend time with you. He thinks you two could use some father/son bonding time."

Drake inwardly winced at those words.

"We've been really worried about you. You were gone for nine days. We had no idea if you were okay or even alive. You really scared us. You scared me."

His runaway attempt had gone well up until he ran out of food and money. He'd snuck through Julio's window, but his friend's father had caught his son carrying a bunch of snacks upstairs and had proceeded to call Audrey.

"Then why can't I stay here with you? I don't want to go to Dad's. We don't get along. He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, Drake." Audrey made her way over to her son and placed her hand on his shoulder.

He turned his head away so she couldn't see his watery eyes.

"None of this is your fault. Your father made a mistake. He got caught. You weren't the reason we got a divorce. Neither of us blame you."

Drake's face contorted and his lip started trembling. Fresh tears flooded out of his eyes. God, if only she knew. If only he had the courage to tell her.

"You're dad's almost here." She rubbed his back for a moment before pulling away. "Finish getting ready."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

When the floor was spotless, Drake pushed himself to his feet, then went into the kitchen to discard of the used paper towels. He scooped the rest of his dinner into the trash can along with it, then set the bowl inside of the sink and filled it with water.

The boy was still hungry. He opened the refrigerator and looked inside, but it was even emptier than usual. Something was different. It felt abnormal as he gazed into the fridge - halfway searching for food and halfway pondering why it felt so off kilter. He realized the latter first. There was no beer. The absence of blue had a way of making the entire refrigerator look different. That's probably why Martin seemed so pissed off and why he was so irritated when Drake forgot to pick up his paycheck. The boy then started to feel guilty. He knew all too well the feeling of being out of the thing you craved most. He was surprised that his dad hadn't done more than just push him around. When Drake was out of Triple C's, he was always filled with an intense rage that forced him to hole himself up in his room so that he'd stay out of trouble. And Drake wasn't a violent guy. Martin was. Why hadn't he gone off on him? He'd done worse things to the boy for less.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake pushed himself into the corner when he heard the lock on the outside of the door _click_. When the closet door opened, he lifted his arm, blinded by the brightness of his father's bathroom.

"Jesus Christ, it smells like shit it there." Martin grabbed his arm, then yanked him out of the closet.

"Ah!" Drake was only wearing a pair of boxers, so the bruises that covered his skin were clearly visible. They were still rather dark although he'd gotten them when he'd first arrived here nine days ago. He had a rash in between his thighs from a lack of a place to use the bathroom. His feet were damp, and he reeked of urine.

"Stay there," Martin ordered after forcing him to turn and face the closet door. "Take off your underwear."

Drake didn't realize that his fingers were trembling until he struggled to slide the soaked boxers down his raw legs. He choked out a sob when he heard the man removing his belt. "Please," the boy begged almost silently as he turned his head to look at the man and plead with his eyes.

Martin forced him back into place. "Stand still."

Drake was already crying, and the belt hadn't even touched him yet. He felt that he had been punished enough. Nine fucking days in a tiny, cramped place should've been enough for Martin. He hadn't been able to stretch his legs; the closet was so small that he'd kept his knees to his chest the entire time. There had been a shelf just above his head, so there was absolutely no standing room. Not only had he been beaten beforehand; he'd been locked away in the dark, isolating closet, and he hadn't even been able to move around. He felt disgusting for repeatedly urinating on himself, but he was thankful that Martin had left him with a gallon of water although it took up a lot of his room. The child had refrained from having a bowel movement, so now his stomach was in a lot of pain.

"Did you have fun in there?"

 _Crack!_

"Ahhhh!" Drake thrusted his hips forwards and attempted to cover his stinging cheeks with his hands, but Martin grabbed them and tossed them to the side with irritation.

"Answer the god damn question!"

 _Crack!_

"Ahhhhhh! No, sir!"

"Why not? I thought you wanted to be on your own. Isn't that why you left?"

 _Crack!_

"Gaahhh! It was a mistake!"

"If I didn't know any better, I would say that you ran away because of me."

Drake closed his eyes, but the tears still came. God, he was terrified and humiliated. "No, sir."

 _Crack!_

"Gaaaaahhhh! I'm sorry!" Drake could feel the welts developing on his raw skin. "Please," he sobbed. "How many more?"

"Well, you ran away for nine days, and then I locked you in the closet for nine days. I know you're not too good at math - or anything really - but you can figure that one out, can't you?"

Drake squeezed his eyes tighter and hung his head as he wept. His face contorted, and his sobs made him sound pathetic. When he was able to speak, he said, "Please. I'm begging you."

 _Crack!_

"Gnaaaaahhhh!" The boy pushed himself up against the wall. He was bawling so hard that it was no longer audible, and he couldn't stop to take in a breath. Once again, he tried to block his backside with his hands - if only for a few seconds to ease the pain - but Martin balled up his fist and punched the top of his spine three times until Drake finally moved his hands away.

"You know, your mother called me every night that you were gone, and she sounded a lot like you do now."

 _Crack!_

"Ahhhhh! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"That's what I thought. You would never intentionally hurt your mother, would you, Drake?"

"I didn't mean to." Drake had thought of his mother every single day that he was gone, but at the time, he knew that if he went back to her, he would eventually end up here. It wasn't that he didn't love her enough to endure his father's punishments. It was just that he feared Martin enough to throw away any relationship he had with his family.

"And when you get home, you're gonna apologize for worrying her, aren't you, Drake?" Although a lot of the things Martin said were in question form, they were not questions.

"Yes, sir." He _was_ sorry, but maybe she had some things to be sorry for, too, like forcing him to come here, for instance. God, if only he had the balls to tell her what his father did to him!

 _Crack!_

"Gaahhhh! God, I swear! Please!"

 _Crack!_

"Gaaaahhhhhhh! Mmm..."

"And one more thing," Martin said, and this time, Drake could feel the man's breath on his neck. "You're never gonna try to run away from me again," the man said, and although it wasn't a question, he finished with, "are you, Drake?"

"No, sir. Never. I swear to God."

"Good."

 _Crack!_

"Aaahhhhhhhh!"

 ***END FLASHBACK***

 _Ring..._

 _Ring..._

 _Ring..._

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mindy."

The girl could tell by the way he said those words that he was high, and she was less than enthused. "What do you want, Drake?"

He wasn't sure why, but he hadn't expected for her to answer, and now that she did, he pushed himself up into a sitting position on his bed because he felt unprepared. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." She didn't elaborate more, so he could tell that she was still bitter about everything that had happened over the last summer. She waited for him to speak, but he seemed to be doing the same. "So is there a reason you called me?"

"Um, your doctor's appointment was today, right?"

"It was."

"How'd that go?" he asked. Usually when he talked on the phone, he would half listen and half play with a loose string on his pants or something out of boredom, but this time, his full focus was on their conversation.

"Fine."

Drake didn't blame her for being short with him after everything he'd done, but it kind of hurt that she pretended that they never had anything between them. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"You've made that perfectly clear," she said sharply. It wasn't the first time she'd heard his lousy attempt at an apology.

"I do still care, though," he tried.

Mindy sighed, her jaw taut. "The baby's fine."

A small smile crept onto Drake's lips.

"The doctor said everything's normal. I'm supposed to go back in month."

"That's good. When do you know if it's a boy or girl?"

"Josh and I decided to do the reveal on Christmas," Mindy said. Against her better judgement, she added, "You should come."

He knew Mindy didn't care if he was there or not, but she'd been living at his mom's now that her and Josh were back together, so she saw firsthand how his addiction affected his family. "I don't know."

"Drake, stop being so selfish. Your mom still pays for your phone bill because she hopes that you'll finally answer her calls one day. All she wants it to hear your voice and know that you're not dead."

Drake looked down at his lap with guilt. He cleared his throat, then changed the subject. "Have you decided on a name yet?"

Mindy hesitated before allowing the switch in topic. "We haven't agreed on a girl name yet, but if it's a boy, we're gonna name him Cameron Layden Nichols."

"Nichols?"

"I mean, Drake, if you would've stepped up and taken responsibility, I would've gladly used your last name, but you've fallen off the face of the earth, and I'll be damned if this kid's gonna grow up without a father."

"You're right," Drake agreed. "I'm glad you have someone there for you. You deserve nothing but the best."

"It's not just Josh. Your whole family's really supportive," she said. "I'm sure they'd treat you just as well as they treat me if you came back."

"You know why I can't do that."

"No," she said, shaking her head although she knew he couldn't see her. "I don't."

And honestly, Drake wasn't so sure either. He just knew that, the second he showed up, things would go horribly, horribly wrong. He had that effect on people.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Everything was wrong. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. This wasn't how this night was supposed to go. It was supposed to be fun. It's something he needed - that they needed - and he'd pushed Meelah into following his lead. It had just been so long since he'd used. A fucking month. Although that didn't sound like a long time, for an addict, it was everything, especially when Drake was the type of guy who had hardly managed to make it twenty-four hours back when he'd tried to clean himself up before. Not to mention that those day fours were nearly impossible, and Drake had made it almost eight times that amount now.

He'd promised her that they'd only take a few hits from the can, and they had each other to keep from losing control, but Drake had known even when bringing that idea up that he had no stopping point, and he knew that, once Meelah remembered exactly what it felt like, she wouldn't either. Now she was fucking dead and it was all his fault!

The bright lights flashing against the dark sky made him feel dizzy and as if he wasn't actually there. He felt sick and nauseous, and it was hard to breathe through his bawling. All he could do was sit on the back of an ambulance as he watched the coroners lifting the body bag onto the stretcher.

God, he felt terrible when Meelah's parents had showed up. They were completely heartbroken. Drake had prayed that they wouldn't come talk to him, but they had because they wanted to know what had happened. The young man had completely lost it, and he apologized over and over and over again. He didn't explain that it was his fault, so maybe that's why they hugged him and held him and cried with him. They knew about their daughter's former drug use, and they knew that she was the reason that Drake used, and although things had gotten better after she'd gotten clean, they knew that addiction was something she would struggle with for the rest of her life. Meelah's mom, Mrs. Harmon, had squeezed Drake until he couldn't breathe while her step-father Mr. Harmon had encouraged the boy to clean himself up before it was too late. It wasn't in a preachy kind of way; it was from the heart because he honestly cared about this kid. And Drake had nodded and he'd sworn up and down that he would, and he'd meant it. He felt betrayed by the very things that used to give him comfort. Ha! That sobriety vow was short-lived, and now he was worse than ever.

Drake saw someone take a seat next to him out of the corner of his eye. Josh. _Pull yourself together_ , he told himself. And Drake actually did manage to lessen the tears. His step-brother was quiet for a while as if he was waiting for Drake to say something, but he had nothing to say. Things were still awkward between the two. Josh was still pissed as fuck, yet he was beginning to talk to Mindy again. It wasn't fair that Drake was being blamed for the entire thing, but he never argued because he _was_ guilty of having sex with his brother's girlfriend. He just wished that Josh would forgive him just as quickly as he forgave Mindy.

Josh finally spoke, but his words were anything but comforting. "I hope you see now just how much of a cancer you are, and how you ruin the lives of everyone you come into contact with." And just like that, he was gone.

Drake was in shock. Even after everything he'd done, that was the last thing he'd expected to come out of his brother's mouth. But God, wasn't he right? As his sobbing grew, he leaned forwards and buried his head in his hands. "God, I'm sorry," he whispered to no one in particular.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Josh never apologized for his comment, but Drake could see that he was sorry after he attempted to kill himself. He hated apologies anyway, so he didn't mind. It had cut deeply at the time, but it _was_ the truth, and you can't be mad at someone for being honest.

Also, at that time, Josh had been going through hell. He had been trying to work things out with Mindy, but she had been really strung out on meth. After Drake had invited her to snort a few lines with himself and Rhinestone last summer, she hadn't been able to get that feeling out of her mind. She'd traded those red pills for white powder and her scissors for a pipe. She's only six weeks clean, but that was a lot longer than Drake ever made it without his vices. Josh had really worked with her. He was patient and forgiving. Drake was jealous in a way. He'd been kicked out of his own home for _his_ drug use. His family had given up on _him_ in a tiny fraction of the time Josh had helped out Mindy. No one had tried to force her into rehab. And how had she quit so easily? It's not fucking fair! Meth is one of those bad ass drugs you hear about on television that ruin people's lives, and Drake was stuck on cough medicine?! Fucking pathetic.

"Are you still there?" Mindy said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Um, I've gotta go," he said abruptly.

 _Figures._ He always did when Mindy started talking about his family.

"But if you need money or anything for the baby, just let me know, okay?"

"I think we can manage," she said, returning to her bitterness. "Bye, Drake."

"Bye-" He'd barely gotten that word out before she hung up the phone. He sighed and spoke softly to only the dial tone that was ringing in his ear. "I love you."

* * *

"S'cuse me. Sorry," Drake mumbled repeatedly as he squeezed his way up to the front of the line. He made it without a fuss; everyone here knew him and loved him.

The bouncer was a large Caucasian male who had the facial expression of an assassin. He unclipped the red rope and allowed Drake to step through without so much as a word. Even before opening the door, the boy had been able to hear the loud bass pounding in his ears and feel it vibrating through his shoes. The scent of alcohol filled his nostrils. Just like home.

He was in a small hallway that was lit with a black light, causing his white, V-neck shirt to glow in the dark. The walls were lined with people waiting for friends or using the phone or making out. Speaking of making out, before he even knew what was happening, he'd been shoved up against the wall with a girl on his lips.

She pulled away and giggled. "Finally, my best friend's here."

He wasn't her best friend. They weren't even friends. If it wasn't for her necklace, which read _Sandy_ , he wouldn't have any idea what her name was, and he was pretty sure she didn't know his either.

"Give me a few minutes, okay?" he yelled over the music. "And I'll come find you."

"You better," she said with a smirk before exiting through the door Drake had come in through for a cigarette break.

The young man continued down the hall, then moved the tye-dye curtain to the side and stepped into a large room. The dance floor was crowded with young adults who were jumping about and having a great time. After Drake got all set, they would be in for an even better time.

"Yo, Drake." A dark-skinned male in his late twenties or early thirties (probably the latter) with a black goatee spotted him. His name was Dante, but Drake never remembered that. "It's about time you showed up."

"Hey, what's going on?" Drake forced a smile and went with the man's greeting by bumping their shoulders together after his hand was grabbed. It's not that Drake didn't like the guy; a couple months ago, they probably could've been best friends or something. However, Drake didn't do much socializing anymore. He never wanted to leave his house unless he absolutely had to, and he didn't much like people anymore. He had all the company he needed between himself and Charlie.

"This is my girlfriend I was telling you about," he yelled over the music as he pulled a girl closer to him until their hips touched. "Sasha. And Sasha, this is Drake."

"Nice to meet you," she said overly kindly.

 _Jesus, she's a newbie for sure._ He was willing to bet that she was the equivalent to Dante as Mindy had been to himself. Definitely an uptight drug virgin who recently got pissed at mommy and daddy and sought after corruption. But hey, you can't corrupt someone who doesn't already want to be corrupted, so Drake tried not to think too much into these things. Not getting to know his "clients" personally helped him not feel so guilty for being apart of them ruining their lives, so he only replied with a quick nod and glance, then excused himself. He squeezed in between people, occasionally getting noticed by someone who was ready to have the time of his life, until he finally made it to the staircase on the left side of the room. He ducked under the abandoned rope, then jogged up the steps. This time, there was another bouncer. He let Drake pass with no problems. The top of the stairs opened up to a large balcony with a retro seating area on the wall to the left and a couple dancing poles next to the rails on his right. The young man passed through the middle. On the opposite end was yet another rope. No one stood guard, so he stepped over and walked down the empty hall, then took a right. The music was dulled slightly now, and Drake felt as though he could breathe a lot better. Clubbing and big crowds and uppers would've been his scene several months ago, but now he preferred to be holed up alone in his dim room with Breathe Carolina or Cage The Elephant playing on his radio at reasonable volumes.

"Hey, Cedric," the young man said to the final bouncer.

"Drake, what's up?" He opened the door. "Catch the game today?"

"No, I haven't been home all day."

In fact, he never watched the game. He wasn't much into sports. However, when he'd first met this guy (and the rest of these guys in the room he was about to enter), Drake knew that he was in dangerous territory. Charm wouldn't work with these guys. He had to find common ground with each one. With Cedric, it was the football game. Usually, Drake would get a rundown from his dad: who played, who won, best plays, etc. Today, however, it had slipped his mind.

"Oh, man! You missed a _phenomenal_ game."

"Damn. I'll have to watch the highlights."

Drake entered the room after giving Cedric a nod for his goodbye. There were eight men - all of them older than Drake, and all of them a lot tougher. When he thought back on it, he couldn't exactly recall how he'd gotten mixed up with such a crowd. Drugs, guns, half-naked prostitutes. Now it all seemed like a normal Saturday night.

"Drake! There's my favorite guy!" He was pretty young himself: twenty-three. African-American. Only a couple inches taller than Drake. Probably twice the young man's size, but it was all muscle. He pushed the two women off of his lap, then stood and grabbed Drake's hand for a shoulder tap.

"Hey, Marcellas." Drake said, pretending to be more social and enthusiastic than he actually was.

"I was starting to think you weren't gonna show." Marcellas nodded towards another guy, who grabbed a bag from the table in front of him and tossed it across the room. The man caught it, then put it into Drake's hands.

Drake looked at it. The clear baggie was filled with a plethora of small, tie-dye colored pills. He weighed it in his hands. This felt like a lot more than usual.

Marcellas could tell what he was thinking and spoke up. "Tonight's crowd is crazy. I have a feeling that those are gonna go fast."

 _Good._ The more Drake sold, the more money he got. He got a pretty fair percentage of the earnings. However, Marcellas still kept most of it. Drake owed him a lot of money - five grand to be exact - and this was how he promised to pay off his debt.

Months ago, Drake and Meelah agreed to move to New York. She wanted her boyfriend to follow the dreams he had had before the drugs had taken them away. And while he pursued his music, she would continue her schooling there. The five grand would really help them get started. They'd had it all planned out: plane tickets, used car, down payment on an apartment. Both would find day jobs and pursue their careers at night. Marcellas was a long-time friend of Meelah's older brother, which is why he was willing to loan the two this substantial amount of cash. Everything had been perfect.

Up until the point Meelah had died.

Drake's several weeks of sobriety that he'd racked up were suddenly gone. He was always fucked up after that on Triple C's or Xanax or alcohol or some possibly fatal combination of the three. At this time, he'd lived at his mom's. One night, he took the car he and his step-brother shared. Drake never remembered why, for he'd been high as a kite on Xanax. At some point, he'd fallen asleep at the wheel and had wrecked the car. His parents had been livid, not to mention Josh, who had already hated him for everything that had went down with Mindy. It was non-stop arguing and belittling and scolding for days until Drake finally couldn't take it anymore. Out of drunken spite, he'd given his flabbergasted brother what was left of the five thousand so that he could find a new car. After his mind cleared later on, he tried to get it back because he knew he needed to return it to Marcellas since the New York plans had fallen through, but Josh refused.

Marcellas was a reasonable person, especially to someone he was close to. This had been his solution, and now here Drake was. He couldn't complain, though. Things could've gone a lot worse. Meelah had told Drake stories about this guy before, and the young man was filled with an unnoticeable fear every time he was around him.

Drake placed the baggie into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. When he lifted his head again, he suddenly noticed that one of the hookers had been eyeing him whilst biting her lip.

Marcellas saw this, too. "You want a little motivation before work? It's on me."

Drake would never admit it because it made him feel like less of a man, but prostitutes made him uncomfortable. He assumed that it had to do with these women being clearly coked out of their minds and willing to do anything for another line. "Uh, nah, I'm gonna go on downstairs."

"Oh, come on. Lola's still pretty tight down there for a whore."

"¿El va comprar?"

"Nobody knows what the fuck you're saying. Speak English!" Marcellas seemed irritated as if he'd had to remind her of this a couple times already.

"Uh, blowjob?" Lola nodded her head as she struggled over one of the few English words she knew. "¿Sí?"

"Maybe next time," Drake declined kindly. "I've got this thing...later, so I just wanna sell these so I can get out of here."

"Determination. That's what I like to see." Marcellas spun him around and placed his hands on his shoulders as if pumping him up for a wrestling match while he walked him towards the entrance. "Make me proud out there."

* * *

It had been a while since Drake had felt this happy. He knew it wouldn't last, but for now, he was thankful for the break from the usual monotony and depression he felt everyday. He'd taken two ecstasy pills, and within ten minutes, he was chatting up a storm with everyone as if he knew them and gave a shit about their lives. He was standing with Dante and his girlfriend Sasha talking about how Dante was bullied all throughout his school days when Drake's arm was grabbed and he was dragged away. He turned and saw that it was Sandy. She giggled with a wide grin, then turned and looked ahead so that she could carefully make a way for the two of them through the crowd of people. Drake didn't fight her lead. When she finally stopped, they were in the guy's restroom. She then grabbed his shirt collar in her fist and pulled him into one of the stalls. Sandy wasted no time. She violently shoved him against the wall. Her lips collided with his, and she started unbuckling his belt.

Drake stopped her by grabbing her hands, then pushed her away. He was already breathless by her kiss. "Do you have a condom?"

"No. You always bring one."

He ran his hands through his hair as he debated on whether or not he should risk it, but every time he did this, he thought of Mindy and the baby in her tummy. "Shit."

"Come on." She grabbed the front of his jeans and roughly yanked his hips closer, then she slipped her hand down the front of his boxers with a mischievous smirk.

God, he wanted to. The ecstasy made him extra horny, and he was already sexually aroused. His jaw dropped open because of what she was doing with her hand, and he let go of a moan. She smiled when he tilted his head back against the stall and closed his eyes, then she started to pull off her shirt. When her hand left Drake's lower region, he immediately took notice and opened his eyes to find her now removing her bra.

"No, I really can't." Everything inside of him was screaming to give in just this once.

"All you gotta do is pull out."

Drake tried to look into her eyes - that's how his mother taught him to treat women - but she was topless and her breasts were a nice D size at least. "I can't," he said again, but quieter.

Sandy saw where his gaze was directed and smirked, knowing she had a good bit of control over him. She pushed herself against him, her crotch grinding against the bulge in his boxers as she connected their lips again - this time sticking her tongue inside of his mouth. She grabbed his hands and placed them onto her breasts.

 _Just do it. Just do it. Just do it._ They could deal with the consequences later. There were other options: Plan B pills, abortion, etc. Sandy probably wanted to avoid having kids just as much as he did. And why was he worrying? There's a huge chance she won't wind up pregnant anyway. He's had unprotected sex plenty of times before, and Mindy was the only girl he'd ever impregnated...as far as he knew... Shit...

"Stop," Drake said breathlessly, pulling his hands away from her. He couldn't recall when it had happened, but his jacket and shirt were on the floor and his boxers were around his ankles. "We can't."

Sandy didn't seem happy, but she understood. "I can still suck your dick."

Drake wasn't opposed to that. It was their little..."agreement." The boy gave her free drugs in exchange for sexual satisfaction. Jesus, that sounds terrible when he thought about it in those words. He wasn't taking advantage of her ecstasy addiction. She wanted the sex, too. Right?

He was pulled out of his thoughts when she gripped his jaw and forced his mouth open, then she stuck one of the pills onto his tongue. He hadn't noticed that she'd gone into his jacket pocket, but he brushed that thought away as they kissed. Using only his tongue, he passed the ecstasy to her, and just as the kiss grew deeper, she pulled away and got onto her knees with a grin.

* * *

Drake wasn't even able to take two steps into the house before he was shoved against the front door that he'd just walked through. His father had his hand on the wood next to his ear so that he couldn't move past, making Drake feel claustrophobic.

"You have my money?" Martin's face was inches from Drake's, and for once in his life, his breath didn't reek of alcohol. Maybe that's why he was up so early. The withdrawals were starting to hit him pretty hard.

The young man immediately grabbed his wallet out of his pocket. His father was not a man to be messed with in such a state. It was fucking hell to put up with an angry drunkard, but believe it or not, he was a lot calmer with his vices than without. Drake opened his wallet and fumbled for the cash. However, Martin snatched the wallet out of his hands and grabbed the money himself. He then folded the bills and pocketed them.

"You can't take all of it," Drake thoughtlessly argued.

"Next time, I suggest you don't forget your paycheck."

It wasn't exactly a "paycheck," but Martin didn't know that. Drake sold ecstasy at Marcellas' club on Friday and Saturday nights. He got paid both days. However, he'd gotten mugged on his way back from the club - which believe it or not, was located in an even shittier neighborhood than Martin's house - on his way back home early Saturday morning. Drake usually gave his father the money he received for Friday night's sales - minus what he spent on that day's drugs - and kept Sunday's all to himself without Martin's knowledge to get him through the week. He'd been robbed yesterday, and now Martin had taken his Saturday night earnings, leaving him completely broke.

"The hell am I supposed to do without money for food?"

"That's not my problem. You're the one who wanted to leave the home of a caring mother. Welcome to the real world, you spoiled little brat." Martin tossed the wallet to the side, then turned and started towards his bedroom to retrieve his car keys. "You're good at mooching off of other people. Bum it from someone else."

Drake was pissed. Walmart had only had one box of Triple C's, so he'd bought that one for tonight. They'd been in the process of restocking, but without any cash, what the hell was he going to do tomorrow? Martin had even taken the money that was leftover from Josh.

"Fucking prick," Drake whispered with irritation.

However, this pathetic attempt at rebellion didn't go unheard, and it stopped Martin in his tracks. The man turned to face his son, and Drake's muscles tensed up.

"What'd you say to me?" Martin started towards him, so Drake pushed himself against the door again. "What'd you say, you little shit? Huh? What'd you say?" When he was in front of his son, he took his forehead and smashed it right against Drake's nose.

The force of Martin's blow caused Drake's head to fly back and collide with the wooden door. Blinded by pain in multiple parts of his skull, Drake's knees gave out and he dropped onto his bottom. He clutched his nose, his eyes wide with shock and his jaw dropped open.

"I don't know who THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU ARE talking to me like that!" Martin firmly pointed his finger in his son's face. "You can get the fuck out if you don't like the way I run things around here!"

The searing pain was so great that the young man's eyes watered over. His nose was throbbing and the back of his head was pounding. He could already taste copper, and he could feel the blood flooding across his lips. Never had his nose bled so much in his entire life.

"I think you broke my nose," he gasped.

"Answer me! Do you wanna fucking leave?!"

Drake didn't recall him asking that question before now, but he wasn't about to correct his father. "No."

Martin knew it. He had his son right where he wanted him because Drake would never leave no matter what he did to him. Not when he was allowed access to Charlie here.

"Get outta my sight, you little maggot," Martin spat with disgust, and Drake immediately obeyed.

Once he was in his own room, Drake went over to the mirror. Jesus, blood was fucking everywhere - all over his lips, his chin, his neck, his shirt, his hands. It was sticky and gross. The young man cursed himself for not going to the bathroom instead to clean himself up. He grabbed a dirty tee that was on the floor and plugged his nostrils, hissing with pain.

He wiped away some of the blood, then examined himself further. His nose didn't really look broken. It was probably fine; it just hurt like a mother fucker. God, what a fucking asshole!

* * *

Martin had left for a beer run almost immediately after that confrontation, so Drake had felt safe to clean up in the bathroom. A lot of blood had been wiped off. The sink was covered in a liquidy crimson color. There was still dried blood under his nostrils and down his neck, but he wasn't ready for hard scrubbing just yet because he knew that it wouldn't feel pleasant. First, he decided to change his shirt. He exited the bathroom and pushed the door to his room open, then was met with a surprise.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Drake's heart dropped.

Ricardo sat on the edge of his bed. He'd been poking at the balled up shirt on the ground to see if the dark stains on it were, in fact, bloodstains like he'd suspected, but when Drake finally entered, he looked up at him. It was obvious that he was shocked by his friend's appearance: the pale skin, the sunken cheeks, the dark-circled eyes, the loose clothing.

This was the second time that he'd been looked at in that way over the past twenty-four hours, and Drake didn't like it one bit. What gave Ricardo the right to judge him anyway? And what had given Josh that right when they'd run into each other at the store? It was Drake's life, and he was going to live it however he wanted.

"Do you know how many times I've searched for you here in the last three and a half months? Every time I tried, though, I kept finding your sister. She has no idea where you are either. I would come check here about every two weeks after work on Saturday. That's when I started to realize that that's when Megan comes over. Every other weekend. She pretty much expects my showing up now. I can tell that she hopes that I'll bring her news of your whereabouts although I only come because I hope she's heard from you so I know that you're still alive. You know how I figured out you were still here, though?"

Drake swallowed, then averted his eyes by looked at the wall to his right. He shyly clutched his right bicep with his left hand. He felt like he was in trouble, and his heart was beating pretty quickly. For months, he'd ignored everyone he'd ever known except for a couple short conversations with Mindy. Even she didn't know where he was. He'd hidden it well. Now that Ricardo knew, Drake worried that he would tell and everyone would suddenly smother him with pity and intervention attempts and pleads to sober up.

But he wasn't ready.

"I was just starting to leave after talking to Megan one day, and I found an ashtray hidden behind the potted plant on the porch. It had a couple cigarette butts: L&M. Megan doesn't smoke. Your dad doesn't smoke."

"Okay, you caught me. What do you want?"

"I want you to go home."

Drake rolled his eyes, then went over to his dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out a shirt. He pulled the current bloody one off, revealing the many bruises that covered his torso. He slid on the new one, then started to leave the room, only stopping to pick up the other bloody shirt on the floor so that his friend would stop looking at it.

Ricardo was right behind him. "Everyone's worried about you."

"I'm fine," Drake said harshly over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen and tossed his clothes into the dirty clothes basket.

"Obviously, you're not."

"Piss off."

Ricardo was right behind him when he went into the bathroom and started scrubbing the coat of dried blood from his skin. "You promised me you wouldn't come back here."

"I guess I lied."

"They miss you. Your family misses you. Your mom misses you. _I_ miss you."

Drake had no response for this. The truth was that he missed them, too - possibly even more than they missed him. Charlie had a way of doing that - making you miss people intensely - even ones that you'd just seen hours before.

"We can help you. Your family. Julio and I. We want you to come home."

"I _am_ home."

"Jesus, Drake. Your dad almost killed you a couple months ago. Is that what you want?"

"Maybe I do," he said quietly, and it broke Ricardo's heart to see him like this.

"What do you think Meelah would say if she saw you like this?"

"She'd probably leave my sorry ass."

"See? She wouldn't want this for you."

"Yeah, but here's the thing," Drake said, turning to look at him finally. "Meelah's dead. She's not watching over me. She's not rooting for me. She's just dead. In a box, in the ground. Dead." He pushed past the man and tossed the washcloth into the basket with the rest of the dirty laundry, then he went into his room. He swung the door closed behind him, but Ricardo caught it before it shut and invited himself inside.

"I know her death was hard for you, but you have people around you that support you and want to help you move past this."

Drake opened his book bag and pulled out the box of Triple C's he'd bought earlier. Ricardo was starting to stress him out, and it had been hours since his last Charlie high. "I feel like everything coming out of your mouth is just a bunch of cliche bullshit."

"Everything I've said is the truth." The man's eyes were attracted to the bright yellow box. He watched for a minute as Drake held it in one hand while rummaging around for his emergency scissors with the other, but he couldn't help himself. "Okay. No." He grabbed the box away from Drake, who at first had looked like a child who had woken up to find no presents under the Christmas tree before his expression changed to pure fury.

"Give it back," Drake said with all seriousness.

"I just want you to listen to me."

"Give it back!" Drake reached for it, but he was too short.

"I'm trying to help you."

Overwhelmed by rage, Drake clutched the scissors tightly and held them in a threatening way. "Give me the god damn box."

"You're not gonna cut me," Ricardo challenged. He was filled with shock that Drake had even made it look that way, and his heart ached deep inside. He wouldn't show this on the outside however, although he feared that his friend was too far gone now.

Drake didn't back down with his glare. It's just that this was the last fucking box and it was all he had for the day and he fucking needed it right now. However Ricardo was right. Drake tossed the scissors across the room violently, but that didn't stop him from smashing his fist against the man's face. He got in one more good punch before his luck turned and Ricardo's shock turned to anger. Before Drake knew what had hit him, he was laying on his back with fist after fist flying at him. His jawbone exploded with pain, then his nose, then his jaw again. It hurt like hell, but somehow proving to Ricardo that everything he had just said was a lie felt amazing, so he kept a grin on his face with each hit. It wasn't too long before the man realized what he was doing and pushed himself off of his friend.

Drake groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position, then spat a small puddle of blood into the carpet next to him. He looked up at the towering man, and although his teeth were stained red and a pool of blood slowly drained from behind his lips, he wore a smirk on his face.

Ricardo couldn't take it anymore. Drake wasn't even the same person. He felt so guilty about Meelah's death that he sought out ways to hurt himself. He felt as though he deserved it, and the man started to believe that he would never be able to convince Drake otherwise. The boy was completely insane and self-destructive, and Ricardo felt that this talk had done more harm than good. He had no more words. Apologies wouldn't mean anything to Drake, plus he wasn't so sure that he was sorry for what he'd done, so he just turned and stormed out of the room.

Seconds later, Drake heard the front door slam closed. He was breathing heavily as the reality of what had just happened set in. Instead of thinking about it, he pushed himself out of the floor and grabbed the box of Triple C's off of the bed. He searched around for his scissors, but couldn't for the life of himself find them. Too desperate to put this off any longer, Drake ripped open the box and tore at the packaging with his bitten and uneven fingernails. He clawed at the corner of each perforation, and it was taking a lot longer than he'd originally thought. The wait was getting to him. The fight was getting to him. The fact he needed it so much was getting to him. The loneliness was getting to him. Everything was getting to him in this moment, and he COULDN'T GET THE GOD DAMN BOX OPEN! The overwhelming sensation of a whole new flood of emotions filling his mind within seconds upset him. He furiously tossed the box and the package he was working on across the room, then leaned back against the wall as the first of many tears left his eye. He slowly slid down until he was on his bottom and pulled his knees to his chest while running his hand through his hair. His back shook with each sob.

 _What is happening to me? What am I doing?_

Drake heard the front door open and wiped away his tears. He didn't want Ricardo to see how broken he truly was. However, the person who appeared in his doorway wasn't Ricardo; it was his father.

"I saw your old pal leaving. He looked pissed." Martin's eyes searched the room until he found Drake resting against the wall by the foot of his bed. He moved closer to him and saw the fresh blood. "Jesus Christ."

Drake sniffled as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then looked up at the man as if it wasn't obvious that he'd been sobbing his eyes out.

"Come on." Martin grabbed a bottle out of the six pack that was in his hand and tossed it at his son, who caught it and met his father's eyes with confusion. "Let's get drunk."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Oh my goodness, you guys. It's been eight months since I finished writing Charlie Freak! I can't believe the sequel has taken so long, but I'm so glad I'm starting to get it out there. It took about five months to write this chapter. I'll try to get the others out faster. I have an idea and mental outline of what I want to have happen, but other things just pop up and I roll with it. Thanks to everyone who is back for the sequel and those who are sticking with me even though I take fucking forever. You guys rock.**


	2. Intervention

Before Drake opened his eyes, he squeezed them closed tighter than they had been and moved his hand to his pounding head. "Mmm," he moaned as he stretched out his free arm and his legs. That movement alone made his stomach churn. His eyes widened as he pushed himself out of bed, then ran towards the bathroom. Once inside, he hurled his guts out, the force of it so strong that he found himself on his knees in front of the toilet. He gasped for air in between his gags.

When he was finished, he spat a few straggling chunks out of his mouth and into the bowl. Too lazy to stand, he pushed his weight back until he was sitting on his bottom with his back against the tub and his knees to his chest. His breathing was still pretty heavy when he heard his cell phone ringing back in his room. Drake didn't even bother getting up. He never really talked to anyone these days. He never answered anyone's calls, and he only ever called Mindy every now and then. It was probably just his mom calling for the hundredth time wanting to know if he was going to be showing up on Christmas. Drake wasn't, but even if he were, he wouldn't give her a heads up. That would give her time to plan some sort of intervention like after Meelah had...well...like the last time.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake couldn't keep the smile off of his face. He couldn't even begin to describe how elated he was. Finally, he had the love of his life back: Charlie. At last, he had the confirmation that everything was going to be okay. At least, for a while anyway. Walmart had been out for TEN DAYS. It had been absolute hell. Drake basically stayed in bed every second of every day - didn't eat, didn't move, didn't speak. His family had grown worried about him. He'd acted like this before - right after his girlfriend had died - until finally he'd given up on the little over a month of sobriety he'd had in his pocket. That was the night he had tried to kill himself by mixing a bunch of pills. He didn't remember much about that night, but he'd heard stories about being found in his bed, covered in his own vomit and surrounded by a bottle of Jack Daniels and ripped-open Triple C boxes and an empty pill bottle with the owner's name scribbled over in Sharpie. The very day he'd gotten out of the hospital, he was back to using again - this time more than ever before. He never tried to commit suicide since then because he couldn't get over how much it had hurt everyone, and seeing the pain in their faces made him feel guiltier than he had ever felt before.

Honestly, though, he fantasized about it everyday, but now that he and his lover were reunited again, it wouldn't be as hard to ignore those morbid thoughts. Now he has something to live for.

Drake looked up at the sky when he heard thunder emanating from way off in the distance, and he saw dark storm clouds gathering overhead. Even this dreary weather couldn't put a damper on his mood.

It wasn't long before he reached his front yard. It was just beginning to rain outside when he practically bounced up the driveway and opened the door to the Parker-Nichols home. He shivered when he stepped inside of the warm house as the cold rain drops slid across his skin. It had been chilly outside, for it was getting close to autumn.

After closing the door, Drake turned and started to sprint up the staircase, but stopped with slight irritation when he heard his mother calling out to him from the living room. He begrudgingly turned and made his way towards her voice, but when he entered the room, he froze. Standing before him was his mom and Walter. Josh was sitting on the recliner, and Megan was on the couch. They were clearly all rather nervous, especially Josh, whose fingers were fidgeting.

"Come sit down," Audrey said, holding out one arm and waving him towards her.

"What the hell is this?" He already knew, which is why he was prematurely angry.

"We just wanna talk," Walter said.

Drake wanted to run. In fact, for a second, he thought he was. He was trying hard to move his feet backwards, but instead, he found himself giving in and going nearer to his mother. She smiled and pulled him into a hug for a moment, then guided him around the couch and sat him down in the middle. She then took a seat while Walter grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and placed it on the other side of Megan, who was also sitting next to Drake. The young man's heart was pounding against his chest, and suddenly he felt embarrassed about his drug problem.

"We all wanted to come together as a family to show you that we love you," Audrey said.

"And we're here for you," added Walter.

"Jesus, I don't need to hear this from you." Drake tried to push his mother's grip on his shoulder away so that he could stand, but she wouldn't let up.

"You do." His mother nodded. "We're really worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"We know you're lying," Josh said.

Drake met his eyes when he spoke. Ever since Drake's suicide attempt, Josh acted differently towards him, which was only natural, Drake supposed. Although Josh hated him for what he had done over the summer, the young man couldn't deny that he still loved his brother.

"We just wanna help you."

"I don't need your help," Drake said, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Drake, you have a problem," Walter stated softly. "And the sooner you admit it, the sooner you can get some help."

The young man suddenly regretted not taking his pills sooner. He wasn't sure how he was going to make it through this sober. He leaned back against the couch a bit because he felt claustrophobic, what with everyone leaning towards him with their eyes burning holes through his skin.

"We've all written some things down," Audrey grabbed his hand, so Drake turned his head back towards her. "Ways that your drug abuse has hurt all of us. We're gonna read them to you, and then let you respond."

"This is bullshit."

"We're not mad, honey. We're hurt, but we're all willing to forgive you if that means that you'll clean yourself up." Audrey nodded towards her other son, who grabbed a sheet of paper from the end table next to him and started to read what he'd written awkwardly.

"Um, dear Drake..." He cleared his throat nervously, questioning why he had voiced that intro. "I mean...uh..." he continued reading.

Drake didn't exactly hear all of it. He felt ambushed, so he could only half pay attention to his step-brother's words. Mindy was mentioned a lot. And the summer break. And stealing money, which Drake had just done for his most recent Charlie run. Josh said a lot of cliche things. _"I didn't just lose a brother. I lost my best friend."_ And although Drake had remained stubborn and indifferent when Josh had started, the boy's letter made him reminisce about when they had been a lot closer. Drake truly missed it, possibly more than he missed anything else from his sober life. However, when he compared his need for Charlie with his love for Josh, it wasn't even close.

"I think what really hurt the most," Josh read, "was when I came home from work and found you the night you tried to..." He tiptoed around the words. "-to hurt yourself. I was finally starting to find some sort of happiness again, and then I came home to you feeling sorry for yourself even after everything you did to the rest of us. You ruined the plans I had made for my future with Mindy. I should've been the one moping around depressed. Yet I come home and find _you_ covered in puke. Everything's always about _you_. You're selfish. Even now, we're all here because of you. I know you won't get clean for me, or for Megan, or for Mom and Dad because you don't care about us as much as you care about yourself. So get clean for you. Do it to prove to yourself that you can." Josh dropped his arms onto his lap and looked up, nervously folding his paper. "That's all," he said quietly.

"Drake, do you have anything to say to your brother," Walter asked.

They wanted him to apologize. They wanted him to grovel at their feet and beg for forgiveness. And he knew he owed it to them, but he wasn't in the mood. He was fucking pissed. Josh thinks that _he_ 's selfish?! Well, yeah, maybe. But where was his family when he was getting ass-raped by his own fucking father?! Where were they when he was forced to suck his gym coach off?! Where were they when he spent a large portion of his early teenage years locked in a closet?! And why did he keep all this inside, you ask?! Because he knew how much it would hurt them! He knew how guilty they would feel. He _did_ fucking care! Maybe he should spill the beans about everything right here. In front of all of them. Really make them feel like shit. However, he didn't have the heart, and he was already humiliated enough to be talked down to in this sort of way.

"Drake?" Walter repeated. "Anything?"

 _I do love you._ However, those words didn't make it past the young man's lips. "This is fucking stupid," Drake said angrily, pushing himself to his feet.

"Drake-" Audrey tried. She was crying, which had started at some point during Josh's letter.

The boy yanked his hand out of hers, but was blocked by Walter when he tried to slide in between his step-dad's seat and Megan's spot on the couch.

"Just hear us out," the man said. He was standing now.

"Why? So you can tell me how much of a pathetic piece of shit I am?"

"Drake..." Audrey winced each time he cursed.

"We love you," Josh tried.

"You have _so_ much potential," his step-father said. "We hate watching you throw it all away. There's so much you can give to the world. You have a lot to offer people."

"What? Like extra ketchup with their McDouble?" Drake said. "Is that the kind of potential you're talking about?"

"You have your music."

Drake squinted as if he were trying to recall something from several months ago. "Wasn't it you who gave me that whole lecture about how I needed to grow up and get a real job because becoming a rock star is just some childhood fantasy?"

Walter had no response to that. Drake didn't feel satisfied, though. The only thing that was running through his mind was how close everyone was to him and how much he needed room to breathe. He felt like he was being talked at from all different directions. In fact, the only one who remained silent and seated was Megan. He wondered what was going on inside of her head and what she thought of him, so he snatched up her piece of paper.

"Don't." She made a grab for it, surprised at his sudden interest, but he moved over to the other side of the living room.

"Dear Drake," he read sarcastically, holding the paper up high out of his sister's reach and easily pushing her back with one hand. "I just want you to know that I love you, and I should've been there for you like you were always there for me when it mattered the most. Cute," he said harshly, then continued. "Maybe things would've turned out differently for you if I would have stopped d..."

Drake immediately went silent, his eyes transfixed on the letter. He stumbled slightly, for he'd stopped paying attention to Megan's attempts to snatch the paper away, and she'd accidentally tripped over his foot. Once she knew he saw it, though, she gave up and watched as he took a couple more steps away and turned his back to his family. Drake's throat suddenly felt dry, so he cleared it. His mind was swirling. His heart started pounding against his chest. His cheeks burned and turned a shade of red. He continued to read, but silently this time.

 _Maybe things would have turned out differently for you if I would have stopped dad from treating you so badly. He made me swear not to tell because he said he would do the same to me, and I was scared because I was only six. He tried to hide it from me, but every now and then I could hear you crying or yelling for me to come help you, and I'm sorry that I never did. Mom said that this was supposed to be a letter about all the things you've done to hurt me, but there's nothing you need to apologize to me for because I wasn't there for you the one time you needed me. So for that, I'm sorry. But now if you ever wanna talk..._

Drake stopped there. He gripped the top of the paper and ripped it in half, then turned those two halves sideways and tore it again. He put the pieces inside of his pocket to throw away or possibly burn later, for he didn't want anyone to find it.

"I'm sorry," Megan said with tears in her eyes, and it was clear in her voice that she felt extremely guilty.

Drake was pissed - not because she never tried to stop the abuse, but because she knew about it. His anger wasn't directed at her fully, but she felt that it was and he wasn't about to go into the story of his childhood for everyone to hear right now just to explain his feelings to her and make her feel better. And yeah, maybe he _was_ kind of frustrated with her. He was humiliated that she knew. When she thought of him, she probably always heard the sound of his screams. She probably always associated him with that weak whimpering noise puppy dogs make when they're scared. And why had she taken so fucking long to tell him the truth?

"Drake?" Audrey said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"I'm done with this." The boy slid past his brother and started to go up to his room.

"We're not finished," Walter said, stopping him once again. "You have two choices. You can either check yourself into a rehabilitation facility," he said, "or you can leave."

"Leave?" Drake chuckled because, for a moment, he didn't believe the man was serious. He soon realized the sincerity of Walter's words by the look on his face. "Where the hell am I supposed to go?"

"You're supposed to go to rehab," Josh said.

"Mom?" He turned to her. "You're gonna throw your son out on the streets? Just like that?" At this moment, he felt as though he would start weeping just like his mother. His eyes watered over, but he held the tears back and bit his bottom lip.

"No, of course not."

"Sweetie, we just talked about this," Walter said to her, wrapping an arm around her. "We both agreed on this."

"Mom?" Drake pressured, wearing the most hurt-filled facial expression he could possibly muster.

"You need help, Drake," she said.

The young man nodded, contemplating his next move. After a few silent seconds, he finally spoke up with his decision. "Fine. We'll do this your way."

Drake didn't stay for the celebration and the looks of relief and the congratulatory pats on the back. He disappeared upstairs, leaving his family to process what had just happened.

Walter pulled his wife into a hug. "Things are gonna get better," he promised.

"I feel like he hates me," she doubted.

"Maybe he does now. But when he cleans up and gets his life together again, he's gonna thank you." He wiped away her tears, then put her head on his shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said softly.

Josh turned from his parents to his step-sister, who was sitting down with her head hung. He squatted down so that he was at eye level, then spoke after a quick moment of silence to assess his thoughts. "What'd you say in your letter?"

She didn't respond. The girl placed her head in her hands; her elbows rested on her knees.

Josh rubbed her shoulder. "Whatever you said - I'm sure he won't be angry for long. He's probably not even mad at you. He's mad at all of us. He can't think straight, and he hates that we're trying to separate him from the drugs."

Still no reply.

"You know, I said something that really hurt him, too. When Meelah passed away, he was crying in the back of an ambulance, and I...well, I basically just let him have it. I don't really regret it although I feel really bad about it. But he knows that I love him, and he got over it."

Megan finally spoke up then. "Did he?"

It wasn't long after the moment that Josh was referring to that Drake had tried to kill himself. Megan didn't think it was all Josh's fault, but his lack of support definitely contributed to why Drake had felt like there was no other option.

Megan saw that Josh was taken aback by her words and had no rebuttal, which was fine because she was done talking anyway. She stood, then went around the couch. She wanted to go to her room and have a good cry or call her boyfriend Ryan or maybe both. On her way towards the staircase, however, she met Drake, who held a suitcase in his hand.

"Where are you going?" she asked, obviously upset by his actions.

The rest of the family looked on from the living room, the short-lived relief immediately gone from their faces as if it had never been there at all.

"What are you doing?" Walter said.

"Rehab or fuck off, right?" Drake lifted his eyebrows in question, but he didn't receive an answer. "Right. Well, I guess I'll be leaving now then." He turned, but his sister grabbed his shoulder.

"Drake..."

He took on a more serious tone as he looked at her and spoke so that only she could hear. "I love you. Okay?"

"Then stay. For me. Please?"

And for a moment, he actually felt bad. But he was stubborn and had to prove his point. He wasn't about to give in now. Drake wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug, then whispered in her ear. "Don't tell anyone about dad. And I'm sorry for being a shit brother." He kissed the top of her head, and with the blink of an eye, he'd disappeared out the door.

"Drake!" Audrey screamed with tears pouring down her face. She started to run after him, but Walter held her back.

"Let him go."

"DRAKE!"

Walter pulled her into a hug, then rested his head on top of hers and rubbed her back as she sobbed. "Come on. Come sit down," he said quietly.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Drake hesitantly hefted himself to his feet. He was still drunk from the previous night, which is probably why he couldn't recall a thing. He steadied himself against the wall, clutching the door frame as he stumbled out of the bathroom. Everything was spinning.

"Hey, shithead?"

 _Jesus, it's too early for this._ Drake leaned against the wall as Martin walked out of his room. The man seemed rather chipper, but that didn't exactly mean it was a good thing.

"Guess what today is."

Drake started to think about it, but his brain was aching too much. He clutched his forehead and squinted his eyes.

"It's the third Thursday of the month. Disability check day!"

 _Thursday? What the hell happened to Tuesday and Wednesday?! Is this a joke? Is he fucking with me?_

"Jesus, you look like hell, son," Martin examined as he went into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and sifted through the bills, still glancing up at the boy every few seconds. "Are you still drunk?"

Drake could only groan as a response.

Martin laughed. "Here." He handed him thirty bucks, which confused Drake, for he'd never done this before. Since the boy didn't take it, Martin grabbed his wrist and forced it into his hand. "Maybe you should slow down on the booze for a while. But just for a little while. These past few days with you were the funnest I've ever had in my entire life." The man put his wallet away, then looked over his son once again and smirked. He slapped Drake's bicep. "You're gonna have one hell of a hangover. Holy shit."

After he left, Drake just stood there for a moment trying to process the conversation he'd just had. There's no fucking way it's Thursday already. Drake's had more than his fair share of blackouts, but two fucking days just gone and unaccounted for? What a fucking mess.

The boy slowly continued making his way into his bedroom, tripping once just before he arrived. He'd barely caught himself, but managed to stay on his feet. As he entered the room, he furrowed his brow and looked around. Several empty beer cans were thrown about along with three bottles of Jack Daniels. Jesus Christ... Why hadn't he noticed this earlier? He rested his head against the door frame and clutched his pounding skull. The young man groaned, although it sounded more like a whine.

Drake made his way over to his nightstand, but his phone wasn't there. He plopped down on the bed, and after a bit of lazily searching the floor around him and becoming nauseous each time he bent down, he found it on the floor in between his nightstand and bed. He opened it and found that Martin was right. It was one o'clock Thursday afternoon. Unsure of how he felt about this, Drake picked up the only bottle of JD that still had some whiskey left inside and took a long swig. His face contorted and he shivered the second it touched his taste buds. He never liked any sort of alcohol other than beer, but apparently he'd went all out with this fucking whiskey. The boy forced one estimated shot-sized gulp, then he put the cap back on and grabbed his backpack, which was on the floor at the foot of his bed. He unzipped it, then rummaged through in search of his pills. Unable to find them, he flipped the bag upside-down above the floor, then ran his fingers across everything to see if they were hiding under something. It was almost immediately that he covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he felt vomit creeping up his throat. He sat up straight as an attempt to stop it, then glanced around his room with confusion.

"Looking for these?" Martin stood in the doorway.

Drake looked up and saw bright yellow boxes through a plastic grocery bag in his father's hand.

"I didn't want you mixing these with as much alcohol as you drank." He tossed them towards his son.

Drake didn't catch it. He reached down and picked up the sack, then counted all three unopened boxes.

"I brought you these also." Since Drake hadn't been able to catch something so large, he brought the next items over to him. It was a bottle of Advil and a Bud Light.

"Thanks," Drake managed, taking them.

After a bit of struggle, Martin took the bottle of medicine back and opened the childproof cap for him, then handed him four pills. Drake tossed them into his mouth, then held the beer bottle top against his forearm and twisted the cap off. He chased the pills with that, then set it onto the nightstand and started opening one of the Triple C boxes.

"Have you seen my cigarettes?"

"I think you're out," Martin said, taking a seat on the corner of the nightstand.

"Shit." He didn't feel panicked or anxious at all, but he felt confused, and not the good kind of confusion. The good kind was a Charlie-induced confusion. This was just pure unsureness, and he hated it. Drake picked his scissors up out of the floor, then started cutting up one of the packages.

"I think your mom's been calling you all day. Probably wanting to know if you're coming to the party."

"What party?" He looked at his phone to check the date again, for he'd already forgotten and was wondering if it was Christmas already. "Shit. Megan's birthday."

"You gonna go?"

"Probably not," he answered honestly, then belched because of the beer.

"I still haven't bought her anything. I was waiting to get my check this morning. What do you think she'll want?"

"Hell if I know." Sadly, Drake didn't really know his sister as well as he would've liked to.

"You wanna ride to the store with me?"

"Without throwing up?" After he removed eight red pills from the plastic, he tossed them onto his tongue and quickly chased them with the Bud Light. He cringed as they clattered down his esophagus.

"That didn't stop you yesterday."

Drake went silent. He wanted to know what had happened and what he had done, but he wasn't sure he could actually handle it. If he knew, he'd probably be too embarrassed to leave his house ever again.

Martin changed the subject. "What are twelve year old girls into?"

"Boys and make-up." Drake didn't even look up from cutting up the next package. He decided to just take one box to make it easier to keep down for at least an hour before he vomited.

"Not my fucking daughter."

"Boy bands and clothes," Drake guessed.

"Yeah, but I don't know what bands or what she wears. She's so picky about her clothes. She never wore the last shirt I bought her."

Drake poured the next eight pills into his hands. "Money's a great gift." He dropped the pills onto his tongue, then grabbed the bottle of beer again.

"I guess that could work. I could give her a hundred. That way, she could pick out her own stuff and get more than just one thing."

Drake placed the back of his hand over his mouth, then gagged.

"You gonna throw up?"

He shook his head even though he wasn't so sure.

"I think I'm gonna go ahead and leave." Martin stood.

When Drake was sure the pills wouldn't come back up, he said, "Actually, I think I will go. Can you drop me off at the gas station? I need cigarettes."

"You'll make it home okay? You can barely walk straight as it is."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just give me a second to change."

* * *

Drake packed his new box of cigarettes, tapping the top of the pack against the bottom of his palm as he pushed open the glass door with his bicep. "See ya," he called back in response to Ahmed's goodbye. He removed the plastic and tossed it into the garbage can that was outside the door, then he opened the box. He ripped off the silver paper, trashed it, then pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. He fished for a lighter in his pockets, then lit the end of the cigarette and inhaled. When he lifted he eyes, he found that his father's truck was still in a parking spot to the far right. Drake headed in that direction and, when he was close enough, spoke through the opened passenger's side window. "You waited?"

"I figured you'd come to your senses and realize you definitely wouldn't make the walk back to the house."

Drake actually hadn't thought about it until now, but that was a fucking long walk although he was currently only right outside his neighborhood. However, he had a migraine, and the bright sun wasn't helping anything. He felt like he wanted to puke some more, and he desperately wanted to so that he could get it all out and this hangover would fuck off, but he couldn't get anything to come up. Had he not been so desperate for a cigarette, he wouldn't even have gotten out of bed.

When Martin saw his son glance at his newly lit cigarette, he said, "Just leave the window down. It should be fine."

Drake got inside. This was the first time he'd ever smoked in here. He never really smoked in any car, as a matter of fact, so it was like a whole different feeling to him being cramped up in a small space with smoke lingering around.

As Martin put the car in reverse and backed up, Drake started to remember just how hard it had been for him to refrain from vomiting all over himself during the drive here. As they headed down the street, he rested the back of his head on the headrest and closed his eyes, taking in quiet breaths of air. However, this didn't help one bit. Although his vision only displayed complete blackness, he felt as though he was spinning and falling backwards out of an airplane. The young man just wanted this day to be over. He felt like shit.

"You hanging in there?" Martin asked with an amused grin.

Drake squinted his eyes, for his father's voice had sounded louder than it actually was. "Yeah."

Martin chuckled knowingly. "You gonna throw up?"

"No." Drake took a drag, then tossed the half-smoked cigarette out the window.

Getting changed earlier had taken a lot longer than he'd originally planned because, after grabbing his clothes and going to the bathroom, he realized he was in dire need of a shower. Martin had been kind enough to wait. It was now roughly forty-five minutes after he'd taken his pills, and they were starting to hit. To ensure that he wouldn't come down in only an hour, he grabbed the other box from his backpack and started opening it.

Martin glanced at him, and just for a minuscule moment, there was a bit of empathy emanating from his eyes. However, Drake didn't see it; he was too focused on Charlie. That is, until his father spoke.

"What's it like?"

"What?" Although he wasn't meaning to, Drake was whispering to give comfort to his ears.

"Charlie," Martin said, the nickname Drake used feeling strange coming off of his tongue suddenly. "What's it like?"

Drake actually paused for a moment in thought. He wasn't sure how to sum up why this drug was so perfect. Meelah had been the only one who understood. Mindy had thrown his weird love and personification of the pills in his face after he'd admitted his feelings to her. And Drake couldn't forget who Martin was. He was being super nice now, but what about tonight after Megan's party or tomorrow? What about when he needed new material to taunt him with?

Drake pushed all that to the side however. He couldn't give up a chance to talk about the love of his life, especially when he wasn't the one to bring it up. Someone else wanted to talk about Charlie, and that just gave him the excuse to express his deep attachment.

"It's like you have a bunch of noise. Everything is noise. But then suddenly it isn't anymore. Everything's quiet...and it's calm. And it's like you're taking your first breath of clean, unpolluted, untouched air, and although it's kind of hard to think and comprehend, you can feel in your entire body that you've never thought so clearly and you've never fully understood the things around you. Instead of seeing myself as a guy lacking in knowledge, I'm a man with so much to learn." Drake lifted his eyes for a moment to see his father's response, and Martin actually seemed to understand him for the first time in as long as he could remember. "What about you?"

"What do you mean? What about me?"

Drake poured a group of pills onto his palm and realized that he didn't have his normal bottle of water in his bag. After a quick search around, he spotted his father's Bud Light in the cup holder and reached for it, slowly in case this would be the thing that sent Martin back to his "old ways." "What is it about alcohol that makes you fiend for it so much?"

"I don't know," the man answered after a moment's hesitation.

"Yeah, you do," Drake dared to challenge after swallowing the first group of pills down.

Martin glanced at him, and even though it wasn't a glare, Drake still knew he'd crossed the line a bit by calling his father a liar. He averted his eyes and looked at the next package as he cut into it with the scissors.

"I mean...sorry."

Old Drake wouldn't have given a shit about disrespecting his dad. New Drake, however, had no choice but to obey him. If Drake fucked up enough to provoke Martin to kick him out, he'd be on the streets. Sure, he had places to go for a short amount of time, but no one would take in a junkie bum for more than a week. Martin knew this, and he often used it against the boy when he was his normal drunken asshole self.

To Drake's surprise, Martin answered his question. "I just have so much bitterness inside of me. I guess it helps let off steam. I guess it kind of feels better to let go of everything for a while and not have to keep it inside."

"Good thing you've got me as your personal punching bag," Drake said with a sarcastic cheeriness in his voice.

There was a silence then, and for a moment, Drake swore he'd done it now. However, Martin's somber and guilt-filled voice filled his ears.

"It was never supposed to be like this. We were never supposed to be like this."

Drake had just finished gulping down the last of the pills and was currently trying to focus on not vomiting. "Don't."

"We were supposed to go to baseball games and drag races."

Drake sighed. "Dad-"

"I was supposed to teach you how to stand up for yourself and how to take care of your family."

"Don't, okay?" Drake found the nausea rising in his throat, and he rested his head back against the headrest.

"Instead, all I taught you was how to be an addict. I showed you how to completely fuck up your life. I taught you to think that you were this tiny, minuscule, worthless being who was meant to idolize some sort of mind-altering substance."

"Dad-"

"And we're just on our knees, sucking this thing's dick, giving it more power, feeding that addiction. And I'm-"

"Stop."

"-the one who taught you to live that way. I taught you to think that it was normal, and that you would never be better than that."

"Seriously, stop the truck!"

Martin looked at his son and saw that he was heaving. "Shit." He flipped on his blinker and pulled onto the grass. He didn't even have the vehicle all the way stopped before Drake opened the door and hopped out with puke spewing from his lips.

"Jesus Christ!" Martin said.

Drake weakly held himself up by gripping the window sill with his right hand, then he clutched his stomach as all of the alcohol he'd consumed over the past couple of days forced its way up his esophagus, causing his throat to feel as if it was on fire. The vomit was mostly liquid, for he hadn't eaten anything since his drinking binge had begun. The bile squirted from his nose as well, filling his entire face with a burning sensation. He gasped for air in between his gagging spasms.

This all seemed to go on for an abnormally long amount of time before Drake finally could be heard panting for air. He sniffled, then let go of an exhausted chuckle. Martin could tell just by looking at him that his son was gone. His eyes were glazed over, his pupils dilated.

"You alright?"

Drake didn't reply. He was still bent over, so he placed his left elbow on the passenger's seat of the truck and rested his head in his hand. He let go of a quiet moan, then sniffled again. Snot was dripping from both nostrils, and his eyelids hung heavily over his brown eyes. He was acting strange, and although Martin was starting to worry, Drake wore a grin on his face.

The young man straightened and turned as if possibly heading home? Martin wasn't sure what was going on in his son's head currently, but the boy hardly made it anywhere before he fell against the side of the truck, his back slowly sliding down the metal until he was in a sitting position on the grass.

"Drake?" Martin couldn't see him, but he knew that he was still close by. "Drake, get in the truck," he demanded, his irritability growing. "Drake!"

There was no movement, so Martin opened his door. "God damn kid," he mumbled, making his way around the tail-end of his vehicle. When he was on the opposite side of the truck, he found his son leaning against the back tire. "What the hell are you doing?" He was thankful that there were no cars passing, for he was slightly embarrassed. "Get up."

He wrapped his arm around Drake's torso and hefted him to his feet. The young man was able to make a couple of steps before he became dead weight and Martin lost his hold on him. He landed right next to his puddle of vomit. His father was just about to help him up again, but as he bent over and reached for him, Drake's body started twitching.

"Drake?" He didn't receive a response. "Drake, you alright?"

As the boy's convulsions became more violent, it became apparent to Martin that his son was having a seizure.

"Drake, wake up! Aw, fuck!" He reached into his pocket and whipped out his cell phone. In a flash, he dialed 911 and examined the young man while waiting for an answer. "Drake, can you hear me? Jesus Christ!" He flipped his son onto his side as more vomit gushed out of his mouth. "Drake, wake up! Wake up!"

* * *

 _Beep..._

 _Beep..._

 _Beep..._

Drake's already closed eyes squeezed tighter as the loud noise filled his ears. His head pounded with each beep. Besides the pain in his skull, the next thing he noticed was how empty and sore his stomach felt. He could never remember feeling so empty inside. Drake opened his eyes, but was blinded by the brightness around him, so he closed them as they watered over. He groaned, but no sound left his lips. Instead, his throat filled with a fiery pain. Drake gave another go at opening his eyes. He squinted and blinked several times until his vision started clearing up. He found that everything around him was white, and it hurt his eyes.

The young man turned his head towards the beeping and saw a heart rate monitor. Next to that was an I.V. stand. Drake followed the tube to the needle that was sticking into the top of his hand. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened or how he'd gotten here. He could faintly recall a strict woman's voice repeatedly instructing him to swallow some huge ass tube. He remembered gagging and resisting until he was restrained and maybe crying a little bit. _Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened?_

Drake noticed that it was pitch dark out the large window just past the machines. He found a clock on the wall towards the foot of his bed and saw that it was a little past two in the morning. He reached for the nurse button, but before he pressed it, he heard a toilet flush and the sound of running water. Moments later, a door opened and his step-father entered the room.

"Walter?" Drake tried, but his quiet, strained voice cracked and went in and out.

The man looked up at him, his voice cold. "You're awake." He crossed his arms.

Drake erupted into a coughing fit after his attempt at getting out words. His throat burned, and his stomach felt bruised and achy with the force of his coughs. He went into a slight panic as he gasped for breath.

"Can you...water?" Drake croaked, his deep coughs causing his eyes to water over.

Walter hesitantly uncrossed his arms and went over to the counter, where the hospital had supplied a cup for Drake to drink out of. The man turned on the sink, which was right next to where the cup had been. It seemed to take forever before the man finally came over to him. Walter placed one end of the straw in between Drake's lips. The boy took the tiniest sip and started coughing all over again. This time, however, it didn't last as long, and each sip of water got easier.

When the young man had finally calmed down, Walter set the cup onto the table next to him.

Drake cleared his sore throat. His voice was still scratchy. "What happened?"

"What happened? Alcohol, benzodiazepines, amphetamines, that stupid cough medicine of yours. THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED!" Walter yelled his last sentence, which caused Drake to wince with fear, for the man hardly ever raised his voice.

Drake's eyes squinted slightly as he started to shake his head. "I don't remember-"

"Of course you don't. Why would you?"

Walter was a little bit too hostile for Drake's liking, and the boy much rather preferred the soft, caring voice of his mother.

"Where's Mom?"

"She left," Walter spat. "She couldn't even stand to look at you." It wasn't _exactly_ true; it was more like she couldn't bare to see her son like this.

The pieces still weren't exactly fitting together for Drake. _Alcohol, Triple C's, yeah, okay. Benzos? Amphetamines? When did that happen? What the hell was going on?_

"I...I can't remember anything," he tried again, fishing for some answers.

"You overdosed. On the side of the road like some homeless junkie. Thank God your father just so happened to be driving by and saw you. If it wasn't for him, you would probably be dead right now."

None of this was making any sense to Drake. The more he heard, the more confused he became.

"Are you using meth, Drake?"

Still confused and disoriented, Drake replied with, "I don't know."

"You don't know?!"

"I mean, no."

"Mindy told us about you snorting meth before. What other amphetamines are you doing if it's not meth? They found it in your system when they pumped your stomach."

"None. I don't know," Drake said defensively. Honestly, he wasn't really up for this conversation right now. He felt like shit, and each time he spoke, his throat grew more and more sore.

"Stop lying!"

"I really can't remember."

Walter gritted his teeth. It was obvious by the way that he clenched and loosened his fists repeatedly that he was getting wound up. Fury was bubbling up inside of him, and he just wanted to scream. "You're _so_ pathetic, Drake! You're throwing your life away by putting all of that shit into your body. Is it because you lost your junkie girlfriend?! GROW UP!"

"Get out," Drake demanded viciously, his eyes filled with disbelief at the man's words.

"What, did I hurt your feelings? You think I've upset you more than you've upset your mother?"

"Get out! I fucking hate you! Get the fuck out!"

"Fine, you wanna be alone? Good. You need to go ahead and get used to it now because you're gonna be alone for the rest of your life."

Since he was in a hospital bed, he didn't really have a lot of ways to blow off steam, so he fought back the only way that he could. Drake grabbed what was left of his water and slung it at his step-father. "Fuck off, you little bitch!" he spat.

Walter's jaw was dropped and his eyes were wide with shock as the liquid dripped down his cheeks and onto his clothes and the floor. What had happened to his step-son? Where had that outgoing, happy-go-lucky, kind-hearted teenager gone? And who was this awful personality who had taken his place?

"Fucking go!"

Walter composed himself so that he could talk calmly. "Someone's gonna pick you up tomorrow. They want to keep you here for twenty-four hours, but after that, you're gonna be coming home with us, and we're gonna help you find a rehabilitation center."

"Piss off."

Once again, Walter pictured who the boy used to be and thought about all of the differences between who he had been and who he was now. "I love you, son."

Drake rolled his eyes and looked away, and just like Walter had promised, he was all alone.

* * *

It was obvious to Josh that Drake was feeling some sort of discomfort as he clutched his stomach and rested his head against the headrest on the passenger's seat.

Despite his observations, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Drake knew he didn't sound convincing, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah." _Better._

"We've all been really worried about you. Where have you been?"

"I'm fine." Drake ignored the question.

Josh turned the car into the driveway of the Parker-Nichols home. "Yeah. Right. I mean, I'm picking you up from the hospital after a drug overdose. It could've all been on purpose like last time, and I'd never know. But you're fine, though, so whatever."

"It wasn't on purpose, Josh. They even gave me a psych evaluation just to be sure it was okay to release me."

He turned off the car. "You could've lied. You're good at that these days." Josh started to get out, but was stopped when his brother grabbed his shoulder. He met Drake's sincere eyes.

"I didn't try to kill myself again. Okay? I just...dicked around a little too much. An honest mistake."

Josh believed him. However, it didn't make him feel better like he'd expected. "An honest mistake that almost cost you your life."

Drake didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. Instead, he pulled at the handle and pushed open the door. It wasn't until he was on his feet that he realized just how sore and achy he felt. He clutched his stomach and froze as he leaned against the car and groaned quietly.

Josh saw this. "I'll help you upstairs." He went around to the other side of the vehicle and started to wrap his arm around his step-brother, but Drake stopped him.

"No, I'm okay." He wasn't, but he didn't want his family seeing Josh support him. He was too prideful to show that he had any regrets although, honestly, he had no memory of the past couple of days, and that scared the hell out of him.

"You sure?" Even though Drake confirmed that he was fine, Josh stayed behind him to catch him if he stumbled.

Once Drake stepped through the door of his old home, he was surrounded by Audrey, Megan, Walter, and Mindy, who slightly hung back with Josh.

"Oh my God, I'm so glad you're alright!" Audrey was already in tears before she could even wrap her arms around her son. She choked out a couple sobs and she held the boy tightly.

"I'm okay," Drake said.

He felt embarrassed. Before, he maybe could've possibly hidden how badly his drug use was. He'd always been able to convince people that it wasn't as big of a deal as it actually was. Not anymore. There was no denying it. He had lost control of his life, and that was fucking humiliating. He was weak, and his family - the people who had been by him since the beginning and those who had loved him as if they had always been there - they knew.

Audrey didn't want to let go of her son. She feared that, if she did, she would lose him forever. She hadn't seen him in three months, and she was shocked at how much his looks had changed. He was so much skinnier than she remembered. His clothes were way too large, and when she squeezed her arms around him, she could feel each individual bone poking into her skin. His eyes were empty and had dark circles around them and bags under them. He never smiled.

It wasn't just Audrey who needed this hug. Drake took comfort in the embrace as well. Despite the fact that leaving had been his choice, he fucking missed his mom more than anything.

The young man lifted his eyes when he felt that he was being stared at, and standing right in front of him was Walter. Awkward. The last time he'd seen the man, he'd tossed water in his face. He wasn't proud of it, and he had no idea what came over him. That action had only proved that the drugs did, in fact, change him for the worse.

Audrey finally took a step back from her son and examined him and she slid her fingertips down his arms until she was holding his hands in hers. "Come sit down. There's so much that we should catch up on. I wanna know how you've been, what's been going on in your life, where you've been staying-"

"Um, actually..." Drake's eyes moved to the ground, then to the crowd of people that were surrounding him, then back to his mother. "I'm kinda tired?" he said quietly, wishing for privacy. Although it was a statement, it sounded as if he was asking for permission to sleep.

"Of course. You must be." Audrey wrapped her arms around the boy once more really quickly and kissed his cheeks, then she pulled away and rubbed his back while nudging him towards the staircase. "Go on upstairs and get some rest. I'll bring you up something to eat in a bit."

"No, you don't have t-"

"Nonsense. You need to eat. You have nothing in your system. You just had your stomach pumped." Suddenly, she went quiet. Those words seemed to remind her of the reality around her. Her eyes watered over.

Drake had one foot on the first step, but seeing her like this broke his heart and filled him with guilt. He started to go back to her. "Mom-"

He didn't make it very far. She shook her head, then shooed him away.

"I've got some leftover turkey tacos. Megan chose dinner last night." And with that, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Drake could feel all eyes on him. Maybe they were trying to see if he really did have a heart. Maybe he was supposed to go after her, apologize for all the shit that he put her through, beg for her forgiveness, and promise to straighten his life up. However, he didn't plan on changing. Not yet anyway. So he turned and made his way up the staircase.

* * *

"Here ya go, sweetie." Audrey set a tray down on Drake's loft.

"Thanks." Drake forced himself to sit up. He felt like fucking hell, but he didn't want her to see that. He knew she was worried about him, so although it made him feel worse, he picked up the bowl of chicken noodle soup and put a spoonful into his mouth. He'd almost immediately thrown up the tacos, so Mindy had suggested something lighter, like soup.

"Just yell if you need anything else, okay?"

Walter was standing further back as if to protect Audrey in case Drake lashed out at her. The young man could tell that Walter hated that his mother was babying him. Honestly, Drake did, too. He knew he didn't deserve it, and it made him feel all the more guiltier. Everyone could see that this was her desperate attempt to win him back. Maybe expressing how much she loved him could cure him from his terrible affliction. Maybe he could see just how sorry she was for not being more connected with him before. He wanted to tell her that none of this was her fault - that it had been his choice to swallow down that first set of pills - but he wasn't sure he believed it.

"Thanks, Mom," he said.

She smiled and gently patted his cheek before turning around and leaving the room. Walter was right behind her, but was stopped when Drake called out to him.

"Hey, Walter?" the boy said quietly.

The man turned to show that he was listening.

"Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Walter turned back around and saw that his wife was walking down the hallway and towards the staircase. He closed the bedroom door, then moved closer to his step-son.

"I just...wanted to apologize. I'm not usually like that. You know I'm not usually like that."

"I don't know who you are, Drake," the man snapped back.

This quieted the boy for a moment. He hung his head and nodded. "I guess that's fair."

Walter didn't want to treat Drake like his wife was. However, seeing him so low and vulnerable broke his heart. "I'm not mad at you. I want you to know that. Okay?"

Drake bit his lip and nodded his head.

"However, I am disappointed in you."

"I know," the young man whispered. "Me, too."

"Then let us help you," Walter begged, stepping closer. "We want you back, Drake. We want our son back."

"I wanna come back," the boy said.

Walter smiled, and suddenly his entire facial expression changed. All of the disappointment was gone and replaced with pride. "So what do you say? Tomorrow we can start looking into some rehabs. We can get you back on track. We can all be a family again."

Drake met his eyes, and for a moment, he swore he could feel just how much Walter loved him. How did Josh get so lucky? Why did Drake get stuck with Martin? What kind of fairness was that? God, how different things may have been had Walter have been his father. Look at Josh: smart, wise, super nice, super loyal. He was everything Drake wished he could be. And just a simple switch in fathers could've changed his entire life.

Drake nodded and spoke quietly. "Okay."

* * *

 **Author's Note: So what do you think? I'm trying to post new chapters as quickly as I possibly can. Let me know if you have any ideas or things that you wanna see happen or things that maybe I mentioned and forgot to cover fully. I have several ideas for this story. It's just gonna take a while to get to them. Since this story takes place five months after the first story ends, there are a lot of flashbacks and things that happened I need to cover, and I wanna make sure I get the right emotions across in my writing. I'm gonna start bringing back some familiar characters in upcoming chapters. Right now, though, Drake's just content with being on his own.**

 **Also, you guys, I posted a new story a while ago. It's a one-shot about Drake (twenty-six years old) going home to his mom after his life and family in New York fell apart. It involves cancer, and it's my first non-druggie story. Ha ha. Let me know what y'all think. I would absolutely LOVE your feedback.**


	3. A Debt Owed

It was all bullshit. Every last word he'd said to Walter - every plead for help - none of it was true. He had no plans of cleaning up, and he sure as hell wasn't going to rehab. No fucking way. He'd just needed his family to stay off his back so that he could rest. He felt terrible. His head was pounding, and his stomach was in this strange pain that he'd never felt before. He tried to sleep. Occasionally, he would get lucky enough to doze off, but that never lasted long. On top of the pain that was keeping him awake, the lack of drugs mixed with the ability to finally be able to catch up on a lot of much-needed sleep gave him sleep paralysis, which led to vivid nightmares.

Drake gasped as his eyes shot open wide. He took in rapid breaths of air as he blinked with confusion. It wasn't long before he realized that he was back in his old room at his mother's house. Soon after that, he remembered why, for he could feel all of the aches and discomfort hit him all at once. He squeezed his eyes closed and clutched his forehead.

 _ **Sing me to sleep**_  
 _ **Sing me to sleep**_  
 _ **I'm tired and I**_  
 _ **Want to go to bed**_

 _ **Sing me to sleep**_  
 _ **Sing me to sleep**_  
 _ **And then leave me alone**_

"You okay?" It was Megan.

Drake hadn't noticed her laying next to him until now. He squinted one eye open and looked at her, then closed it again. "I'm fine."

She didn't believe him. Although she assumed that he didn't remember, Megan had shaken her brother awake multiple times as he suffered nightmare after nightmare. "Can I get you anything?"

Drake's initial response would be to say no, but he felt like absolute shit right now. "Tylenol?"

She pushed herself up and climbed down the ladder, then disappeared from his room. It wasn't long before she returned with a bottle of the desired medication and some water. She made her way to her previous spot and passed off the items in her hand.

"Thanks," Drake whispered, pushing himself up just enough so that he was resting on one elbow. He tossed the pills onto his tongue and chased them with the liquid, cringing slightly at the whole process. Although they didn't taste anything like Triple C's, the feeling of pills sliding down his throat was forever ruined for him. He passed the water back to his sister, then dropped his head back onto his pillow, instantly regretting his quick movement as he rubbed his temples once again.

Megan set his glass of water off to the side so that it wouldn't get knocked over, and it surprised Drake when she grabbed his hand away from his forehead and positioned his arm so that she could rest her head on top of it. She snuggled closer to him, listening to the sound of his heart beating in his chest for comfort. This filled Drake with a sense of guilt. He should never have come back here. He did nothing but hurt his family by returning. He should've gotten his father to pick him up from the hospital.

 _ **Don't try to wake me in the morning**_  
 _ **'Cause I will be gone**_  
 _ **Don't feel bad for me**_  
 _ **I want you to know**_  
 _ **Deep in the cell of my heart**_  
 _ **I will feel so glad to go**_

He couldn't stop thinking about the day he left here. She'd been so heartbroken, and every time he tried to close his eyes in hopes that he could fall asleep again and forget about it for a while, the look on her face when he'd walked out the front door would pop into his mind. How long had she gone thinking that everything was her fault? How long had she carried that weight? And not being able to talk it over with anyone must've killed her inside.

Drake closed his eyes. It was easier to admit things with his eyes closed because nothing felt as real as it actually was when he stared at it in the face. "I'm sorry I left," he whispered.

"We don't have to talk about it." Her voice matched his in volume.

He opened his mouth to say more, but paused and took in a breath, then let it out. "It's not because of you. Or Dad-"

" _I_ don't want to talk about it," Megan said, correcting herself.

"I don't blame you for not telling on him. I understand more than anyone that sort of fear he can-"

"Shut up, okay?" She didn't say it in a rude manner. In fact, it was actually rather gentle.

Drake obeyed her request. He pulled her closer and allowed her to rest her head on his chest, for the sound of his heartbeat soothed her. For once, Drake could be of some use.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Five-year-old Megan Parker pulled her light purple bicycle into her father's driveway, then went over to the man's truck. She'd set her blue Kool-Aid down on the bed, but when she picked it up, the young girl found that it was empty. Although Martin had told her to go outside and play for a little bit, she assumed that it wouldn't be a problem to slip in and grab another Kool-Aid. It was an extra hot day outside, and although she'd just gotten here less than twenty minutes ago, her face was a bright shade of red, and it was covered in sweat. Megan made her way up the porch steps. Her legs were short, so she had to place both feet on a step before continuing to the next one. She pushed open the front door and was about to move towards the refrigerator when she heard a scream.

"Gaaaahhhhhh!" Sobs followed.

Fear crept up her spine, but she was curious to know what was happening, so she followed the noises into her father's room.

"Ahhhhh! Ow! OOOWWW!" More sobs.

"SHUT UP, you stupid piece of shit!"

 _ **Sing me to sleep**_  
 _ **Sing me to sleep**_  
 _ **I don't want to wake up**_  
 _ **On my own anymore**_

 _ **Sing to me**_  
 _ **Sing to me**_  
 _ **I don't want to wake up**_  
 _ **On my own anymore**_

"Daddy, please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! AAAHHHHHH!" Sobs.

Megan entered the man's room, then slowly crept towards the bathroom. She peaked around the doorframe and saw Martin bring a belt down in a swift motion. The buckle end disappeared inside of the closet. Although she couldn't see it, she knew it had hit her brother, for she heard his screech of pain.

"GAAAHHHHHHH! Aaahhhhh! Please! Ple-ee-ease!"

 _Crack!_

"AAAHHHHHHH! Stop, it Daddy! Please! I'm begging you!"

 _Crack!_

"AAAAAHHHHHH!"

Megan stiffened with fear. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wanted to run, but she was frozen in horror at the sight before her.

 _ **Don't feel bad for me**_  
 _ **I want you to know**_  
 _ **Deep in the cell of my heart**_  
 _ **I really want to go**_

"Please, don't lock me in here again," begged a desperate Drake. "Daddy, please." The thirteen-year-old saw the man winding the belt back yet again. "Please! Please! GAAAHHHHH! Megaaan! Heeelp!"

Martin leaned over him then, causing Drake to shrink against the floor. However, in such a cramped space, one of Drake's legs slipped out of the closet, and Megan could clearly see hideous, dark bruises all over his skin.

"You think Megan gives a shit about you?" Martin chuckled evilly, bringing goosebumps up on the back of the girl's neck - and no doubt, Drake's as well.

The boy's voice was almost inaudible. "Please." He sniffled.

"HUH?! DO YOU THINK SHE CARES?!"

Megan knew that her brother flinched by the way his leg twitched and his toes curled up.

"You think she gives a rat's ass about you?" Even though his voice was a lot quieter now, it was just as scary. "After you've broken our entire family apart?"

Drake was loudly weeping now, and it was apparent that he felt quite a bit of guilt about this.

 _ **Sing me to sleep**_  
 _ **Sing me to sleep**_

Martin straightened. "Shut the hell up, you faggot-ass cunt!" Again, he went at his son with the belt, taking pleasure in the screeches of excruciating pain that came from Drake. "And I swear to God if you piss in my closet one more - ARE YOU FUCKING PISSING RIGHT NOW?!"

"Aahhh!" Drake's leg disappeared inside of the closet as the belt rose into the air yet again.

Megan stepped closer, crossing the threshold so that she could see her brother. When he was finally in sight, he was curled up in a ball in one of the corners. His entire body was shaking, and his trembling knees rested in a puddle of liquid, the smell of which caused Megan's nose to twitch. He wore only his underwear, which was entirely soaked. His lack of clothing revealed several more bruises just like the ones that were on his leg. These covered every inch of the rest of his body. The girl's jaw dropped open in shock as she came to a halt. In between lashings, Martin spat on his son. It was so fast that there really wasn't even a break in between the blows from the belt buckle.

 _ **There is another world**_  
 _ **There is a better world**_  
 _ **Well, there must be**_  
 _ **There must be**_

"Daddy?" Megan managed to whisper with shock.

Martin turned and was just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. The man had been in the process of bringing the belt buckle down against Drake's skin again, but since he'd turned his head away with this new distraction, he missed his intended target. He was so caught off guard that he didn't even notice that Drake's screams and cries and completely ceased all of a sudden.

"What are you doing?" Megan asked.

Martin looked back down at his son to see what he had done, and that's when he saw that the boy was laying unconscious in a puddle of his own urine and there was a trail of blood streaming down Drake's temple. When he looked back up, his daughter was bolting out the bathroom door with fear. He dropped his belt and started to go after her, but first reached down inside of the closet and checked to make sure that his oldest child was still breathing. With this confirmed, he slammed the door shut, expressing more fury than he knew he had, then he locked it and dashed after Megan.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

 _ **There is another world**_  
 _ **There is a better world**_

* * *

When Drake awoke, he found that his arm was asleep. Further examination showed that his younger sister's head was still resting on it. The boy turned and looked out the window. The sky outside was pitch black. Now was the time to make his move. Slowly, he slid his arm out from under his sister and used his other hand to gently place her head onto the pillow. He lifted himself up and carefully moved closer to the ladder, stepping over Megan's legs as he did so. Descending the ladder was the hardest part since he still had no feeling in his arm. However, he managed to make it to the floor without waking the girl. Drake turned, and that's when he saw Josh and Mindy asleep on Josh's bed. Jealousy filled Drake, but he wasn't sure why. He loved Mindy, but the feelings he had for her were nothing compared to the ones he felt for Meelah. Drake grabbed his phone off of the loft, then tip-toed across the room. He was right next to his brother's bed when his phone dinged, alerting him of a text message. He froze, his muscles tense, but the couple didn't seem to have heard the noise. Drake continued out the door, then shut it behind him as slowly and quietly as possible. He lifted his phone and looked at it.

 **Marcellas: outside 2 mins**

 _What the fuck?_ Marcellas was here? How did he even know where Drake was anyway? Drake didn't want to go, but he was too scared to see what would happen if he kept the man waiting. Although Marcellas seemed pretty chill and was cool to him, he'd heard stories, and he never wanted to find out if they were true or not.

As Drake moved down the hallway, he passed by the door to his parent's bedroom. He knew they were still awake because he could hear talking. Just as he was about to creep by, however, he heard his name and stopped to listen.

"Drake used to be such a bright kid." It was Audrey. "I don't understand." At this point, she had started crying, and it was hard for Drake to make out what she was saying. "Is this my fault?"

"Of course not," Walter assured, attempting to comfort his wife.

"But it's always the parents' fault," she argued. "I just keep trying to figure out what it was. What was the thing I did that made everything go so wrong for him?"

Drake hung his head. He wanted to go inside and tell her that it wasn't her fault that he'd turned out this way, but this was the only time that he could get away. If he didn't leave now, he would find himself in a rehab tomorrow. Walter would have to suffice for now.

"You didn't do anything wrong, honey. He's just...a little lost right now. You've tried connecting with him. I've tried. He doesn't want to be saved right now."

"That doesn't make it okay to give up! He's our son!"

"All I'm saying is that we have to let him make his own choices."

"None of this would've happened if you wouldn't have forced him to leave!" Audrey's grief had turned to anger in zero seconds flat.

"I was doing what I though was best for our-"

"Best?!" Audrey exploded. "Kicking a helpless kid out on the streets is your idea of best?!"

Walter stopped defending his actions and instead attacked hers. "At least I'm trying to help him get better! All you're doing is babying him! You might as well be shoving the pills down his throat for him!"

There was silence for a moment, but then Drake heard footsteps, and they were quickly growing louder. As silently as he could, he bolted down the stairs, then hid behind the corner and continued eavesdropping.

"Get out!" Audrey screamed as she whipped open her door. She shoved Walter into the hallway and tossed a pillow at him, then a blanket. "You're not staying in here tonight!"

Drake flinched when he heard her door slam, then there were more footsteps, these coming down the stairs. He speedily turned and opened the front door. He slid outside and silently closed it behind him, then walked across the yard.

He felt terrible about what had just taken place. He could've stopped the argument, but instead, he chose to be selfish. His addiction was tearing his family apart. _I shouldn't have come back here._

Drake stood on the curb, unsure of where exactly he was supposed to meet Marcellas. He looked left and right, but there wasn't a single person in sight. He knew he couldn't hang around here waiting for the man to show up because he didn't want his family to see him outside, so he picked a direction and started walking. He still wasn't feeling so hot, but he felt a hell of a lot better than what he had earlier. It felt good to be outside. The time he didn't spend locked away in his room getting high was spent walking to Walmart to get his fix, and he hadn't been on his feet for quite some time now, so he enjoyed this much-needed exercise. Also, there was a sense of isolation he felt when he was walking by himself at nighttime. Most people were asleep. It was just himself and an entire empty, silent world. There was freedom to do almost anything, and he loved it.

It wasn't long before a small moving truck drove past Drake, then stopped just ahead of him. It's headlights were off, and it wasn't as loud as most large vehicles were. Drake hardly had time to register what was happening before the back was pushed upwards and he saw a group of men inside. He started to turn and bolt in the opposite direction, but two of them jumped out and grabbed him. He felt himself being dragged inside. A hand was placed over his mouth to muffle his screams. He felt two sets of fingertips digging into his skin - both stronger - so he definitely was no match. After he was inside, the door slid closed, and the vehicle started moving.

"Mmm! Mmm! What the fuck?!" the boy yelled when his mouth was free. His shoulders were still being restrained by two men. He looked around and recognized their faces: Marcellas' guys. He was still scared to death, but he did feel some sort of comfort that he knew who his captors were. "Jesus Christ, what the hell, you gu-ahh!"

A fist collided with his jaw, silencing him for a moment. His head jerked to the right with the force of the blow, and his lip was gushing with blood. He gently touched the wound with his fingertips, then looked at them to see just how much it was bleeding.

"The hell was that for?!"

"Marcellas told us to give you a message," the one who had hit him said. He was Marcellas' right-hand man. Tall, lean, but probably the strongest out of all of them. His name was Rashaad, if Drake was remembering correctly.

"What is it?" Drake asked, curious as to what Marcellas had to say and why he would've gone about it in this manner.

The second he asked that question, he was given another blow to the jaw, only this time, he wasn't given time to recuperate. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself on his back receiving kick after kick down both of his sides by an unknown amount of men. He couldn't keep the screams from leaving his throat. There was nothing that he could do. Making grabs for their pants legs didn't seem to work. He couldn't crawl away because he was on his back, and each time he started making progress to flip over, he was forced back into place. His best option was to cover up his face and pray that this would be over soon.

"Alright, that's enough," Rashaad said, and everyone backed away. The man squatted down in front of the boy and observed him.

"Gmm," Drake groaned as he rolled around in pain, clutching his rib cage.

Rashaad grabbed his shirt collar and snatched him into a sitting position. "Where are they?"

"Where are what?"

He punched him again, leaving a red circle around his left eye. "Do not fucking make me ask again."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Drake said, his entire body aching.

"Do I need to let the guys have another go with you?" Rashaad threatened.

"No, just..." Drake panted for oxygen. Being hit so many times had knocked the air out of him. The fact that he was also panicking wasn't helping anything.

"Well? Where are they?"

"Where's what?!" Drake asked rather desperately.

Rashaad shoved him onto his back, then stood and nodded towards the others.

"No." Drake felt claustrophobic as they surrounded him again. "No! Don't! Stop! Aahhh!"

This round seemed to have lasted longer than the first, and when they stopped, Drake rolled onto his side as he coughed. A mixture of blood and saliva was connected to his lips and dripped all the way to the floor. He sniffled. "Mmm. Jesus..."

Rashaad yanked him up again, and this time he pushed a knife against Drake's throat. "Where. Are. They?"

"I don't know." Drake panicked when the knife was forced closer, cutting his skin slightly. "I swear to God! I don't know what you're talking about!" He met the man's eyes, trying to express to him that he was being honest. "Please."

Rashaad studied him and decided to play along. "Let me refresh your memory. A couple nights ago, you showed up at Marcellas' club saying you had some potential buyers at some big party, but they wanted to see the product first. You left with fifty pills, but you never returned."

"I..." None of this sounded familiar. "I don't remember."

"Are you calling me a liar?!" He poked the pointy end of the knife into Drake's neck.

"No! No, I just - I was in the hospital. I overdosed."

"Overdosed on what?" Rashaad snapped.

"I don't know. A bunch of different stuff, they said." Drake was shaking, and although he hated showing them just how scared he was, he couldn't stop. "I don't remember anything that happened over the past few days."

Rashaad glared at him for a few more seconds. He kept his terrifying gaze on him while calling back to one of the other men. "Get Marcellas on the phone. Ask him what he wants us to do with him."

"No." Drake lifted his hand and glanced at the guy who had pulled a cell phone from his pocket. "No, don't do that. I can get the money, okay? You said fifty pills? I can get the money. What is that, five hundred? No problem."

Rashaad pulled the knife away. "Let's go ahead and make it a thousand. Just for all the trouble you've put us through. Do we have an agreement?"

Drake nodded his head rapidly. "Yeah."

"And Marcellas better have this money in his hands within the next twenty-four hours. Do you understand me?"

Drake wanted to protest. No fucking way could he gather up that much money in such a short amount of time. But he didn't have the guts to ask for more time. "I understand," he said.

"And if we don't have that money before your time's up," Rashaad said, carefully sliding his fingers down the knife's jagged edge, "every day, I'm gonna cut off your toes one by one until you get it to me."

Drake's breathing became even faster than what it had already been, and with the man's next words, he went into full-blown panic mode.

"Let me show you an example."

Drake was grabbed tightly and held in place. Rashaad pulled his shoe off, then his sock.

"No, no, no! Don't! Please!" He yanked his leg away, so another guy joined them and helped pin him down. "I'm gonna get your money! I told you I would get the money!"

"The first toe isn't negotiable. You act like Marcellas is your friend, but you need to realize how serious he is."

"Don't! Don't! Please!"

"This is gonna hurt a lot," the man warned, inching the weapon closer.

"Don't do it! Please, don't do it!" Drake squeezed his eyes closed and gritted his teeth. "Gaaaahhhhhh!" He felt the blade slice into the side of his big toe, and it started moving back and forth as more pressure was applied. "Gaaaahhhhh! Don't! Please, fucking don't!" His biceps were pinned to the wall behind him, and his legs under him. The only thing he could do was claw at the floor, his nails breaking as splinters sliced through his fingertips. "Please! I can...I can get you the money now! I can get you the money right now!"

At this, Rashaad stopped. Drake took in a breath of air. His entire body was trembling madly, and his cheeks were wet with tears.

"Tell you what," Rashaad said. "You've got one hour to bring it to us at the O. If you're not there, you can say goodbye to your toe. Got it?"

"Yes," Drake said shakily, nodding his head.

"Don't even try to run away because we will find you. You don't wanna fuck with us, Drake."

The terrified young man shook his head in agreement.

"And remember: we know where you live." It sounded as if there was more to that threat than Rashaad was letting on. "Better get to it then. The clock's ticking. You've got sixty minutes." Rashaad glanced at the person to Drake's right. "Get him out of here."

The young man was snatched up by his shirt, then dragged over to the door, which was being lifted up by someone else. The truck they were in was slowing down for an upcoming stop sign, but the guy with a hold on Drake didn't wait. He shoved the boy outside, and Drake slammed against the concrete. The fall ripped his clothing in some places, scratching up his skin and leaving blood visible through the holes. Drake squeezed his eyes closed from his collision with the ground and let go of a scream. He clutched the back of his head, which had hit the hard surface.

"One hour," the man who had tossed him yelled. He smirked as he waved at the hurt boy, then the door closed.

Drake wanted to lay there and feel sorry for himself and fall asleep so that he could escape the pain that he was in, but he had to get moving, and he had no real plan on how he would go about getting such a substantial amount of cash.

"Ah! Ahh!" He rolled into his hands and knees, then pushed himself to his feet. He remained bent over, and spit a good amount of blood and saliva onto the ground. He clutched his ribs, which screamed in pain, then took a step. Immediately, his body gave out, and he dropped onto his knees. "Gah! Gmm!" He forced himself to stand again, clenching his teeth tightly as if that would help give him strength. He took a step, then another, weeping the whole way.

* * *

Walter was snoring up a storm on the couch, thank God. Drake didn't want anyone to see him like this. He was crying, shaking, and scared to death. He had no fucking recollection of any pills or any party. He had thought he was with his father the whole time. It was times like these that he just wanted to curl up next to his mother and feel the warmth of her arms around him. This wasn't okay anymore. He had to get out. He had to pay these guys off so that he never had to deal for them again. However, all he seemed to be doing was adding more debt.

Drake sniffled and violently rubbed the tears away from his eyes with the back of his hand to clear his vision, then he reached inside of his mother's purse and started rummaging around once more. He was thankful when he found a bottle of Xanax. He didn't even question why it was there with his mother's name on it in the first place. He popped open the bottle and poured a handful onto his palm. They were the one milligram pills, he noticed, but that was better than nothing. He tossed the four that were in his hand into his mouth, then used his own saliva to swallow them down. He was about to put the prescription bottle back, but thought better of it and slipped it inside of his pocket. He then continued searching through the purse and finally found the cash. It only added up to two hundred and nineteen dollars, which hardly made a dent in the thousand that was required from him.

"Shit," he whispered.

"Don't steal from your mom." The voice had expressed pity rather than judgement.

Drake jumped out of his skin. He slyly placed the bills into his back pocket as he turned to see who had caught him.

Mindy...

"I wasn't..." Drake tried. He wiped away his tears and sniffled.

"Jesus Christ..." Mindy whispered.

Her heart dropped out of her ass as she looked at the sight in front of her. She'd only ever seen Drake cry once, but that had been nothing compared to this. He looked full of fear. The way his entire body shook made her feel uneasy.

"What happened to you?!"

"Shh! Shh!" Drake lifted his arms (the trembling of his fingers distracting Mindy) and glanced at where his step-father was sleeping. He then met her eyes and cocked his head to the side. "Mindy, I'm in some trouble," his voice cracked.

She could see that! His lip was busted and swollen, both of his nostrils had dried blood coming from them, and both of his eyes were black. His arms had bruises on them, and Mindy was sure the dark spots went past the sleeves. She wasn't sure why, but he was missing a shoe, and there was a large gash on the side of his toe that was bleeding all over the floor.

"What kind of trouble?" she asked, still looking at all of his contusions instead of his eyes.

He was okay with it, though. He was using his pathetic appearance to gain pity from her so that she'd be more likely to do what he wanted.

"I owe this guy a lot of money, and if I don't get it to him soon, he's gonna kill me." Drake's face contorted after that. Saying it out loud just made it all the more real. "Please, I just need some money."

She didn't say anything, and Drake wasn't sure she would give in. He ruined her life. He broke her heart. Why would she help him?

"Please, Mindy," he whispered. He grabbed her biceps because he didn't feel as though he was getting through to her. "I am so scared."

She knew that he wasn't lying, for she could feel the way his fingers vibrated up her entire arm. Mindy's eyes filled with sadness as she finally met his gaze. "How much do you need?"

Drake's heart filled with so much joy at these words. "Like, eight hundred."

Her eyes widened. "Eight hundred dollars?!"

"Shh!" Again, Drake checked to see that Walter was sleeping. "Please, I swear to God, I will do anything. He's gonna kill me if I don't give him this money."

Mindy sighed, then went over to her purse. "I don't have that much on me."

Drake was in panic mode again, and Mindy could see the desperation in his eyes as a couple more tears slipped out.

The girl pulled out a card, then stuck it inside of her pocket for safe-keeping. "Come on. We'll have to go to the ATM."

* * *

The first ATM that they had stopped at had been out of order, and this had upset Drake. They were currently about a minute away from the next one. Drake pulled out his phone and glanced at it.

"Waiting for a phone call?" Mindy asked.

"Checking the time," he said. "Twenty-nine minutes." It had taken a big chunk of his time just to limp home. They hadn't been too far from the house, but it was still quite a walk, especially in Drake's condition.

"Twenty-nine minutes until what?"

"Well, I better fucking have that money," he said.

Mindy saw him visibly sigh with relief when they pulled up at the next ATM. It was right in the side door of a gas station. He raced her inside, then waited impatiently as she slid the card in and put in her PIN number.

Drake noticed that one of the workers at the register kept looking at him, and he felt embarrassed. They'd left in such a rush that he didn't have time to clean himself off, and he'd been so freaked out in the car that he wasn't even thinking about what he looked like. He went around to the other side of Mindy so that he wasn't visible to the man.

"Almost done?"

"Shit," she said.

"What?" Drake's eyes went wide with fear.

"It won't let me get more than four hundred."

"Try doing a different transaction."

She did. "No, it's not working."

"Fuck." Drake ran his fingers through his hair.

"Come on. We're gonna have to go to another ATM." She passed him the four hundred that she was able to get before leading him back to the car.

* * *

Drake bit his broken fingernail and his knees bounced up and down as he watched Mindy through the windows of the gas station. He'd waited in the car because he was more self-conscious about his appearance. It seemed to be taking her a long time, and his nerves were shot. When she finally came outside, he looked at her expectantly. She passed him five twenties, so he gave her a confused look.

"Bad news. My card's at its limit. It won't let me make anymore withdrawals today."

"We can just go to another ATM." It was an inconvenience because they were lacking in time. Drake checked his phone again. Twenty-two minutes.

"It's not about the ATM. My card won't let me take anything else off of it. Period."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know. I guess the bank does something."

"Mindy, please, don't dick with me right now," he begged.

"I'm not dicking with you." She seemed offended.

"Okay." Drake took a breath and it was obvious that the gears in his head were spinning as he tried to formulate a new plan. "Okay, okay, okay," he whispered. However, the anxiety got to him, so he leaned forwards and rested his thumbs on his eyelids and his palms on his forehead. His back jumped with his silent cries. Time was almost up, and he was still three hundred dollars short. He was going to fucking die. He sniffled when he was finally able to take in a breath.

"I might have an idea."

Drake looked up at her with hope. "What?"

"You said you would do anything for me, right?"

"Yes. Anything, Mindy, please."

"After this is over," Mindy said, "I want you to check yourself into a rehab, and I want you to come back home to your mom."

"Okay," Drake agreed. "Done."

Mindy nodded after examining his sincerity. "Josh's stash. He's got some money saved up. For the baby."

Drake couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that before. He used to always "borrow" money from Josh. The young man pulled out his phone, then checked the time. "If we hurry, we might be able to make it in time."

* * *

Drake finally had the entire grand that he needed, and now they were on their way to the Oxygen. He was running out of time.

"Faster," he urged.

"If I get a ticket, it'll take extra time to get there. I'm going over the speed limit as it is. You said it's just right up here, didn't you?"

Drake didn't answer. He was too busy checking his phone once again. Three more minutes. He was pretty sure they would make it. "Mindy, thank you so fucking much for this. I fucking owe you my life."

"Just get yourself straightened out," Mindy said. "Your mom needs you."

"How long have they been arguing?" Drake asked. He elaborated when he saw the girl's confusion. "Mom and Walter."

"It's been a while," Mindy said. "They kinda blame each other in a way. They both think..."

However, Drake tuned her out because they were pulling up at the Oxygen. "Pull over right here," he interrupted.

She did.

"Can I have your jacket?" He didn't wanna walk inside in front of all these people that knew him looking like he did. As she removed it, he grabbed the sunglasses that were hanging from the visor.

"I know what you're gonna say if I mention a hospital after this is over, but your foot definitely needs stitches. After you give him the money, I can have my dad stitch it up. He doesn't like you, but he won't let you go untreated."

"Thanks," Drake said. "For everything." And without thinking, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. After that, he got out of the car, slipped the jacket on and pulled up the hood, then he hurried up the sidewalk.

Mindy watched as he went to the front of the line. Drake pulled the glasses off and revealed his face to the bouncer, who let him pass. The young man ran inside.

Mindy wasn't sure exactly how long she had waited there. It had probably been about twenty minutes when she finally heard from the boy.

 **Drake: sry i lied cnt gi 2 rehabthx 4 eveything u srsly saved. my life sry**

"Son of a bitch," Mindy whispered.

* * *

Drake stepped out of the Walmart bathroom. He had cleaned himself off pretty well except for the blood that was on his shirt. Thankfully, Mindy's jacket covered it. He did only have one shoe, but he could slip in and out pretty quickly, and he was okay with taking the walk back to his dad's house barefoot. He made a beeline for the cough medicine, so completely relieved that this night was coming to an end. He had nineteen dollars left over after handing over the thousand, so for now, there was no stress over money or how he would get his fix or anything like that. Walmart was fully stocked, he had the cash for tonight and tomorrow and possibly even the next day, and he was finally going to be able to get that much needed isolation fix that he hadn't been able to receive over the past couple days. Yeah, today was definitely turning out to be a good day after all.


	4. Drowning

Drake clenched his teeth together as he stuck the butterfly bandage over the cut on his toe. He was sitting on the edge of the tub in his father's bathroom. Since he'd walked home barefoot last night, he made sure to be extra careful keeping his wound clean.

Last night had been crazy. It hardly felt real. If it wasn't for the pain that he was feeling all over his body, he wouldn't even have believed that it had actually happened. He dreaded seeing Marcellas and his crew again on Friday, but he knew that there was no avoiding it. All he could do was work up enough money to pay the man off. Until then, he was a slave.

Drake jumped out of his skin when the bathroom door burst open. Martin violently smacked the back of his head, then shoved him into the tub. The young man had no time to catch himself.

"Haven't I told you three times already to change the bulb in the kitchen?!" It wasn't about the bulb; it was about fear, respect, and obedience.

"I was getting around to it." Drake pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, then wiped at his nose with the back of his hand as he looked up at his father.

Martin saw a bit of smeared blood on the boy's skin and the side of the tub. (He must've shoved him with more force than he'd thought. Oh, well). Alongside this were several bruises and small cuts, two black eyes, and a scab on Drake's lip. Martin usually never noticed a difference in his son's appearance; he was always covered in bruises. However, there seemed be more than Martin could recall doing himself.

"Someone already beat me to it, huh? Well, here, let me help clean you up." In a swift motion, he turned on the faucet, then he grabbed Drake by the neck and held him under the running water.

The iciness of the liquid caused him to lose his breath, and he was having trouble getting it back. It wasn't long before the initial shock left him and he was able to fight back. He turned his head to the right in hopes that it would minimize the amount of water rushing against his face and blocking his airways. Unfortunately, this didn't really make much of a difference. Drake yanked at his father's fingers, trying to pry them away one-by-one. However, he didn't seem to be making any progress, so he tried a new approach, which was to blindly reach for Martin, wordlessly begging to be let go. Drake gasped for air desperately, and doing this allowed the water to get into his lungs. He immediately erupted into a coughing fit. His tense, outstretched fingers brushed across Martin's cheek, but the man kept moving his head around to avoid them. Drake's entire body fought and wiggled, but by this time, the white surface was slick. His heels slid against the bottom of the tub, and his toes curled up in panic. The young man reached his arms above his head, his wet fingertips just barely able to graze the knob, which was slippery from all his splashing. He was unable to turn it off, for Martin smashed the back of his head against the hard surface that was under him. He was too busy choking to be able to let out a scream. Drake stretched his arm towards the clear, plastic bar on the wall of the tub which was meant for wash cloths. He hoped that maybe he would be able to fight against Martin's strength and pull himself up. Still, his hands were too wet to grip anything tightly. The only thing he could do was reach out for his father again. He did this with his right hand while holding the other in front of his face as some sort of shield. He squeezed his eyes closed and lifted his chin as he violently coughed.

Martin lifted him up then and removed his hands. Drake leaned over the edge of the tub until, finally, he fell out. His drenched clothes hitting the surface made a slapping sound. The young man was still coughing as snot dripped from his nostrils. His entire body was trembling, and his bottom lip was quivering. He loudly gasped for air as he crawled across the bathroom floor weakly. He wanted to be as far away from the tub as possible in case his father wasn't finished with him.

"How many times should I have to tell you to do something before you do it?" the man said.

Drake couldn't speak. His voice was gone, and he was still trying to catch his breath.

"It's gonna be like this then?" Martin snatched his ankles, then dragged him back towards the tub.

Drake's eyes went wide when his knees were pulled out from under him and his stomach hit the floor. As he was pulled, his shirt rolled up, and his wet skin slid across the tiles, causing a squeaking sound. The young man fought to grab hold of something, but nothing was nearby that he could cling to. He tried digging his fingers into the floor somehow, but that, of course, didn't work in the slightest. However, the separation in the tiles did rip his nails apart.

Martin yanked Drake up by his hair, then he forced his son to lean back over the edge of the tub. He held his face under the running water again, this time with a washcloth over the boy's mouth.

Drake could hardly focus on the pain he felt in his back, which was caused by the uncomfortable positioning and the hard surface stabbing into his bruises. All he could think about was how much he wanted to breathe. He wasn't under there nearly as long as the first time, but this time felt way worse. His head was lower than his chest, and therefore, he was completely incapable of preventing the water from going down his nasal passages and throat. He'd seen this done in a movie before - a torture technique used to get terrorists to give up information. Waterboarding, he believed, was the term for it.

Martin yanked him up by his shirt collar, hitting the right side of his forehead against the metal faucet. The washcloth had fallen moments after it had been placed on Drake's face, for he'd wiggled his head wildly, so the young man was able to see the anger in Martin's features.

"How many times should I have to tell you to do something?!" he asked, louder this time as he watched blood gush from his son's newest wound.

Drake continued gagging, and his coughs were more violent than before. He repeatedly mouthed the word " _one_ " in hopes that the man would let up on him.

"You're not gonna answer me, huh?"

Again, the helpless boy found himself under the running water with the cloth over his mouth and nose. However, he wasn't able to remove it because Martin had re-positioned himself so that he was sitting on Drake's torso. With the extra weight, the young man's back was baring down harder against the edge of the tub, causing it to dig further into the bruises. In addition, his gasps for air had become shallower because of the inability to move his stomach up and down. Also, his rib was still slightly sore when pressure was forced upon it after the fracture from many months ago. There was nothing Drake could do this time. Martin had his legs squeezed so that the boy's arms were trapped under him as well. The man was able to grab his son's cheeks and hold his head in place so that he couldn't shake the cloth away this time.

Suddenly the darkness was gone when the washcloth was removed once again. However, Drake's vision was blurry. He saw the outline of his father, who was holding his head up by a fistful of hair to allow some of the water to drain. The helpless boy tried wiggling to get his arms free - even just one would suffice - but he had no such luck.

"Are you ready to answer me now?"

Still, Drake couldn't. He continued his struggle to breathe in between all of his coughing. Since his father was sitting on his chest, he could feel the man getting aroused by Drake's panic.

The young man shook his head when Martin reached for the cloth once more. When it was put over his face again, he wasn't able to move his neck around, for his father tightly held it in place. Drake's bare feet stomped against the tiled floor as water entered his head again. He clenched his toes tightly and outstretched his tense fingers, reaching out for a savior although they couldn't grasp anything under the man's thighs. Drake was absolutely positive that he was going to die. All because he didn't change a fucking light bulb!

Once again, Drake was pulled out from under the running water. This time, however, he felt the pressure on his chest leave. When he opened his eyes, he found himself on his stomach outside of the tub. He was shaking madly as he struggling to gasp for deep breaths. This was the first time he could recall craving something just as much as he craved Charlie.

"Try taking short, shallow breaths."

Drake did, and it seemed to work much better. He lifted his head and saw Martin unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. The young man shook his head pathetically as snot dropped across his lips. He weakly attempted to drag himself across the floor, and although he didn't have the strength to make it anywhere, Martin yanked him to his feet and slammed him against the bathroom counter. Drake's aching ribs screamed in pain.

Martin snatched a fistful of his hair and yanked up, then placed his lips close to the boy's ear. "I hope this teaches you to start fucking listening to me WHEN I TELL YOU TO DO SOMETHING!"

Drake's cheek collided with the hard surface when he was shoved forwards, then his hair was yanked and his head was forced against the counter again. The young man reached up and tried to pull his father's hand away so that he could gain control of his body. His skull was pounding, and he saw blood on the counter each time his head was pulled away from it.

"Dad, I'm here!"

"Shit!" Martin quickly fixed his pants, and since he wasn't holding Drake up, then boy fell against the tiled floor. He heard a door close in the distance, then his daughter's voice again.

"Where are you?"

Drake was still gasping and coughing and gagging. He clutched the left side of his head, which had blood running down it.

"Shut up!" Martin hissed quietly, rapidly wiping the blood from the counter with the wet washcloth he'd had over Drake's face.

The young man tried to crawl away from his dad and move towards the sound of his sister's voice. However, his father wouldn't allow that. With quick thinking, the man whipped open the closet door, then grabbed the back of Drake's shirt collar and dragged him inside. Drake still couldn't speak to protest, so he shook his head. Martin kicked a few times to force his son to shrink into the cramped space so that he could get the door shut. When he finally got the chance to, he slammed it closed and secured the familiar padlock with a click before rushing towards the living room, closing every door behind him so that Drake's attempts at breathing couldn't be heard.

Drake had always remembered this closet to be small, but not _this_ small. His legs were forced against his chest and he had to lean his body sideways because of the low-hanging shelf above him. He couldn't lay straight across the floor because the space wasn't wide enough, and there was a mountain of old shoes his father never wore that were stabbing into his bottom.

Drake was just beginning to get his oxygen back when he heard his father's voice coming closer.

"I'm so sorry that that happened. He ruined your birthday, and that wasn't fair."

 _Shit! Megan's birthday! Oh, shit!_ Drake felt horrible. He'd forgotten that his sister's birthday was the day he'd overdosed. He hadn't planned on showing up, but still, his entire family had spent the day worrying at the hospital instead of staying at home celebrating Megan's special day. Days had gone by and he hadn't even realized until now what day it had been! _I'm the worst brother ever!_

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, though, honey," Martin said in a cheery voice. "Karma's gonna bite him in the ass. Trust me."

"Why is the floor all wet in here?" Megan asked.

"I was washing off my feet. I stepped in a mud puddle outside." Martin turned the running water off.

Drake's heart stared pounding when he heard the man fumbling with the padlock. _What's he doing?! Don't let her see me! Dad, fucking don't you dare..._

"Why do you have a padlock on that door still?"

Still. It was just a small reminder that Megan knew why he ever had the lock here in the first place. Knowing that she knew made Drake sick to his stomach. He wanted to know how often she had heard it happening and how severe the beatings that she'd overheard had been, but there was no way he could ever approach her about it. Just thinking about it made him want to throw up.

"Because I didn't want you sneaking around looking for your birthday present. I've been hiding it in here for two months." The man removed the lock. "Go back over there. I'm also hiding your Christmas presents in here and I haven't wrapped them."

The second the door opened, Drake's and Martin's eyes met. The man's expressed a threat that warned his son to stay quiet. He searched around until he found a rectangular box on the top shelf, then he closed the closet again. Drake frowned when he heard the lock being put back in its place.

"You haven't spoken to your brother since the day he left the hospital?"

"No. He just took some money and left in the middle of the night."

Drake felt guilty about it, but he'd had no other choice. They were going to kill him.

"How much did he take?" Martin questioned, and Drake knew that he was mostly interested because Drake was holding out on him - not that his father would've accepted it knowing where it was stolen from; he would've forced the young man to return it.

"A thousand," Megan answered.

"Jesus!" Martin was in shock, and Drake started getting the feeling in his gut that he was going to get in trouble for this later. "Alright, here you go."

"Thanks."

Drake could hear the sound of paper tearing. He was becoming impatient. His legs were cramping up, and his back and neck were already hurting.

"Cool! It's a camera!"

"Do you like it?" Martin asked unsurely. "I know the one you have is a little outdated."

"I love it!" she said. "Thanks, Dad!"

"Anything for my little angel."

Drake ached with jealousy. Martin was practically bowing at Megan's feet and kissing the ground she walked on whilst Drake was lock inside of a closet hearing all of it happening and knowing that it would never happen to him. Where's the fairness in that?!

"Is your mom still outside?"

"No, she dropped me off. Mom told me to tell you thanks for working around her schedule so I could visit Grammy with them yesterday."

"Of course. How is she?"

Drake didn't listen to the rest. Megan was staying over?! It just occurred to Drake that the girl didn't spend the night over the weekend like usual. She usually stayed Friday and Saturday nights, but today was Sunday. His days were all fucked after his alcohol binge and overdose and his long sleep after the two.

If Megan was staying over, that meant that Martin wasn't planning on letting Drake out until she was gone. _Fuck!_ He hadn't been locked in this tiny closet in years. He felt claustrophobic in the basement, which was a decent size. There was no fucking way he could do this. _For two fucking days?! No, absolutely not._

* * *

 _(32 hours later)_

"Dad, just let me out. I can sneak out without her seeing," Drake said into his cell phone.

It was obvious to Martin that his son was desperate to get out of the cramped space to the point where it was going to Drake's head and he sounded as if it was almost impossible for him to take a breath.

"You think I'm worried about her knowing that you've been staying with me? I don't give a shit. _You_ asked _me_ to keep that a secret. Remember?"

"Then why won't you let me out?"

"Because I found your mother's Xanax."

Drake closed his eyes and let go of his breath through his nose.

"You stole from your own mother? Her medication?"

"I..." Drake wasn't sure why he'd done it. He wasn't that huge of a zannie fan anyway.

"And that's not even the problem. The problem is that she even has a Xanax prescription in the first place. And do you know why?"

Drake just wanted out. He didn't care about anything else right now, and it showed in his voice. "I don't know. Maybe she's stressed."

"Hell yeah, she's stressed! Her junkie son left her for drugs," the man said. "And when she tried to take you back in out of the kindness of her heart, you ran away in the middle of the night with her medication and a thousand dollars, and she hasn't heard from you since. She needs this medicine because of _you_. _You_ stress her out. _You_ put a strain on her marriage with Walter. _You_ take away every bit of happiness that's inside of her. _You_ pushed her to take these pills. This is _your_ fault."

Drake had no response. He was right. The young man always tried to push this thought out of his mind, and avoiding his family had helped up until the overdose, when he was forced to go back home for a while.

"Where's the money, Drake?"

He knew he had to tell the truth. There was no use lying now. "I owed this guy some money."

"Jesus Christ, Drake!"

The young man was quick to defend himself. "He was gonna kill me. I had no other choice."

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" Martin was starting to put the pieces together. "What is your weekend job?"

"What?"

"The one you're always so secretive about!"

Drake flinched at his father's rage-filled voice.

"Are you selling drugs?"

"What?! No, of course - what?" However, Drake gulped.

"We'll continue this discussion after Megan goes back to your mom's. I've gotta go. We're at the theater, and the movie's about to start. Stop calling me. I'm turning my phone off."

"Wait, wait! Okay, just...can you pretty please bring me back a couple boxes of Charlie? Please, Dad."

"Bye, Drake."

"Wait! Don't hang up!"

Martin sighed with irritation.

"Come on, Dad," the young man pushed. "I need these. Just do this one thing for me? I swear I'll stop calling and texting you a hundred times.

"You expect me to embarrass myself by going up to a cashier with a bunch of cough medicine?"

"You can go through self check-out." Drake's voice was meek, for he didn't want to push the man too far and risk pissing him off anymore than he already had.

"I'm not doing that."

The boy sighed with defeat. "I'll settle for one?"

There was a faint girl's voice in the background. "Dad, you coming?"

"Be right there, sweetie." Into the phone, he whispered threateningly, "Fuck off, alright?"

* * *

Drake sighed as he re-positioned himself. He'd made himself sort of a back rest and pillow out of all of the old shoes he'd been sitting on. He still wasn't able to lay far back, for his toes were pressed up against the wall in front of him. The shelf above him was pushing against the top of his head and forcing him to tilt his neck slightly, but this was the most comfortable position that he'd been able to find thus far. He traced his finger against the wooden door, envisioning some cartoon doodle of a dog on a surf board in hopes that it would cure his boredom and Charlie craving.

It didn't.

The young man picked his cell phone up off of the floor in front of him. God, it's only been twenty-five minutes since he'd gotten off the phone with his father. Time was moving _so slowly_! It felt like he'd been in here for a week. He was exhausted, achy, starving, and he had to pee really badly. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold it, but he refused to be that thirteen year old kid pissing on himself and giving his dad even more reasons to taunt him. God, and he _needed_ Charlie.

Drake sighed, then picked up his cell phone.

Drake: u busy?

 ***FLASHBACK***

He couldn't believe he was doing this already. Drake Parker - hopeless drug addict - back at it again. How long had he made it this time? Oh, wow. A whole thirty hours. Fresh out of the hospital with a fractured rib and already somehow finding himself in a familiar section of Walmart. It had taken a lot of internal arguing before he'd finally given in. About five minutes or so. Usually, his mind was made up the first millisecond the thought popped into his brain. Any argument or protest usually happened in that one tiny millisecond. Now he managed to let it take up the space of several minutes. He'd still lost the debate, but he was getting better. It took him much longer to decide to come here. Five minutes is a lot longer a time than it sounds. He was doing better, right?

Meelah had come over the day after he'd been released. They'd laid in Megan's bed all day catching up, and this time...this time, it felt right. It had been close to midnight before she'd left, and almost immediately, he'd made his way here. He always ended up here.

Drake grabbed the much needed pills off of the shelf, then he made his way up front with the three boxes in his hand. It was somewhere around one in the morning, and self-checkout was the only thing open at this time. Drake preferred it anyway. He could set two of the boxes out of sight, and after the cashier came over to type in his birthday, he could scan the others without needing her assistance. After he finished paying, he grabbed his bag and tossed the receipt inside. He'd started making it a habit to toss the receipt in the bag so that he could throw it away with the empty boxes later. He always had a bad habit of leaving things in his pockets for his mother to find when she tossed all the clothes into the washing machine.

Drake started feeling guilty as he made his way towards the sliding glass doors. He knew that Meelah would be disappointed. Shit, _he_ was disappointed. But he couldn't help it. This couldn't be stopped. This is who he is.

However, on his way out the door, Drake tossed the Walmart bag into the garbage can without slowing his steps, then continued making his way to his brother's car. He was burning with desire and craving and the need to turn around and grab his belongings, but he kept walking forwards instead, putting more distance in between himself and his pills.

The thing about addiction is that you didn't always have to be in control of your thoughts. It was okay to lose the fight every now and then. The mind was a hard thing to control. The body, however, is slightly easier. You don't even have to think about it. Just lift your arm, drop the bag into the can, keep walking, keep walking, keep walking, keep walking, keep walking...

Keep walking.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

"Shit." Drake had tried and failed miserably to stretch his leg, and now his muscle was twisting and contorting in his calf, causing him an immense amount of pain. "Mmm..." Usually, he only got leg cramps in his sleep, and they would wake him up. He'd been having them ever since he was younger. His mother had always said it was growing pains. Now was an awful time to be fucking growing. There was no fucking room. It would be like in Alice In Wonderland when she ate the cake and grew so big that her head popped out of the roof.

"I found the key in his nightstand," a muffled voice said from the other side of the closet door, then there was some rattling.

The second the door opened, Drake scooted himself out and rested against the bathroom counter. He straightened his aching leg. It didn't really stop the pain, but he'd found that, whenever his cramp ended, he would be able to walk just fine. When he was younger, he would keep his leg bent and would almost not even be able to put weight on his leg even an hour after the cramp was over.

"Are you okay?"

Drake rested his forehead against his left knee, which wasn't hurting and was pulled up to his chest. His eyes were squeezed closed, and it was obvious that he was in pain. "Mm-hmm," was all that he could say. He clenched his teeth, then took in a sharp breath and held it. It was hard for him to breathe during these because he felt so much pain.

"You have a Charley horse?"

"Mm-hmm." Drake could feel the pain easing ever so slightly. It was coming to an end finally. "Jesus Christ," he whispered with relief.

"I hate those. Such a pain."

Drake waited another minute before finally pushing himself out of the floor. "Thanks for coming." For the first time since his savior had arrived, he lifted his eyes and forced a small smile towards the guy standing before him.

"No problem, sweetie." Rhinestone pulled Drake into a hug.

When they parted, Drake said, "Can you give me a second?" He nodded towards the toilet.

"Yeah, I'll go put the key back." Rhinestone set the padlock onto the sink counter, then went into Mr. Parker's room and closed the door behind him.

Drake moved over to the toilet and unzipped his jeans. It felt great to finally be able to relief himself. He'd been holding everything in forever. For the last hour and a half, he hadn't been able to think about anything else.

When he was finished, he secured his jeans, washed his hands, dried them, quickly brushed his teeth, and then opened the door. He found Rhinestone looking through his father's belongings on the dresser.

The young man looked at him when he noticed him, his eyes traveling up and down his body and his many bruises and contusions. "You look like shit."

Rhinestone didn't look any better. It was obvious that he was still using meth. He was pale. His cheeks and eyes were sunken in to the point where he resembled a skeleton. He was just as wiry and frail-looking as Drake. A couple scabs blotted his face. Drake hated Rhinestone. After what he'd told everyone last summer, it was hard to look at him without wanting to vomit. However, Rhinestone had Triple C's, and Drake was willing to kiss this guy's ass if it meant that he could have his pills.

"You wanna smoke a cigarette?" Drake exited the room, walked through the kitchen, then went down into the basement with Rhinestone following with confusion. Drake found his belongings behind the staircase under an old, dust-covered blanket. He removed it, then coughed as the dirt scattered and filled up his lungs.

"It's dark," Rhinestone said, squinting as if that would help. "I can't see shit." He could hear the sound of a zipper.

"Okay, I got them." Drake closed his backpack, then covered it back up.

The basement was where he kept his belongings when Megan was here on the weekends. His father must've tossed his shit into a suitcase in a hurry based on the way everything was thrown about under the blanket. However, it was expected since Megan had shown up out of the blue.

Drake led Rhinestone back upstairs and out onto the back porch. He started to open his pack when his company spoke.

"Mind if I bum one? I'm out."

Drake's jaw tightened with irritation, but he passed the first cigarette to Rhinestone, then placed one between his own lips. After another sheepish look from the boy, Drake lifted the lighter up and flicked it for him. Rhinestone placed one end of the cigarette over the flame and inhaled, then a puff of thick smoke left his lips.

"Thanks."

Drake nodded his chin as a reply, then lit his own cigarette. As he did this he could feel Rhinestone's eyes on him, examining his changes since he'd last seen him. Drake knew he looked awful. Aside from his usual unhealthy appearance and deadpan gaze, his most recent beatings had really roughed him up. Both of his eyes were black, his lips were scabbed over in a couple places, his face was a mixture of brown and black and purple and yellow, and there were small cuts on his temple, cheeks, and forehead from where fists had broken his skin. There was a trail of smeared dried blood under his nose and around his temple still. And this was all just his face. There was no telling what he was hiding underneath his clothing.

"Your dad did that to you?"

Drake shook his head and spoke after exhaling smoke. "I owed these people money."

"Shit."

Drake avoided his eyes. If he didn't look at him, then maybe he could conceal his urge to punch him. "Um, look, no one knows I've been staying here. I'd really appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this." He rubbed his aching shoulder. It felt great to be able to stretch. "Like, to Mindy or anyone."

"Yeah, sure."

However, Drake found it hard to trust him.

"Oh yeah, I brought your shit." Rhinestone set his backpack down onto the run-down, glass patio table, then unzipped it and pulled out a grocery sack.

Drake took a seat in one of the chairs and opened the bag. He pulled out three boxes. He hadn't realized just how depressed and stressed he'd felt until he'd seen them because suddenly those negative feelings were gone. "Thanks for doing this, Rhinestone." He knew it'd been a lot to ask someone who had no car and his own drug habit to spend money on to go to Walmart, risk the embarrassment of buying three boxes of cough medicine, walk all the way here, climb through a window, find the key to the padlock, and keep all of this a secret, especially after Drake had cut him out of his life.

"Now we're even?"

And now as Drake tore open one of the boxes, a cigarette dangling from his lips, Rhinestone's earlier betrayal suddenly seemed so small compared to the nice things he went out of his way to do for a fellow addict. "Yeah, definitely."

"Great. I'm kinda thirsty. Is it cool if I grab something?"

"Sure."

"I'll get you something, too." Rhinestone set his cigarette in the ashtray, then disappeared inside. Moments later, he returned with two Bud Lights.

"Thanks," Drake said. He opened his, then tossed the first group of eight pills into his mouth and chased them down quickly so that he wouldn't get the taste of the Triple C's stuck on his tongue. As much as he wanted to take all three boxes, he decided it was best to take only two, and then he could save the last one for when he needed to re-up. "I can pay you back for these on Saturday if you can wait until then. Or I can find the money somewhere if not."

"After the free ex you gave me? Nah, you don't owe me anything, sweetie."

Drake's brows furrowed. He met the boy's eyes for a moment, then he looked back down as he continued opening the plastic package. "Free ex?"

"You don't remember, do you? I'm not surprised. You were super fucked up."

"Was I with you last week?"

"For a bit. You had a shit load of ecstasy. You were absolutely bonkers."

"What did I do with it? Did I sell it?"

"You were just giving it out for free. I managed to convince you to leave after a while. There's still some leftover. I took it to my house and _might_ have dipped in a little, but there's more left than what it would have been had I left it with you."

"There's some left over?"

Rhinestone went into his backpack again and pulled out a small bag, which contained about twenty-five to thirty pills. He set it onto the table.

Drake chased down another set of eight red pills, then picked up the tie-dye ones. It wasn't much, but it was something. "Thanks for looking out for me." Now he could sell them and get a bit of the money back. It wouldn't be nearly as much as he'd had to fork over to Marcellas and Rashaad, but it was something. "You mind holding onto it for a bit longer?" He planned on having Rhinestone lock him back inside of the closet before his dad got him. "And then I'll come get them when he lets me out."

"Sure." He put the pills back inside of his bag. "So your dad locks you in a closet?"

"Not really. It was a last minute thing. My sister showed up to stay a couple days."

"And you're so desperate to remain hidden from her that you're willing to stay in there?"

Drake didn't know how to explain. He sighed, then glanced at the boy. "Are you gonna tell?"

"No, I already said I wouldn't."

"Good because I wouldn't have anywhere else to go if I have to leave here."

Rhinestone cringed as he watched Drake gulp down another set of pills. He could remember a time before meth when he'd been addicted to the same tiny, red pills. He used to have to go through the same struggle.

"Have you talked to Mindy?" Rhinestone asked.

"Not really. Why? How is she?"

"She's fine. Her and Josh are together, you know."

Drake was feeling irritated, but not towards Mindy or Josh. He was peeved because Rhinestone was trying to stir something up inside of him. He liked doing that. Manipulating people for his own personal gain. Drake wasn't sure how the boy could benefit in this situation, but he wasn't going to play along and find out.

"I know," Drake said.

After finishing his pills and his cigarette, Drake led the boy inside. He opened the cabinet and pulled out a sandwich bag. Drake poured the pills from his third box inside to save for later. He twisted the baggie, then slipped it inside of his pocket. After that, he placed the Walmart sack full of empty boxes into the trash can and pushed it down one side to hide it from plain sight. Next, he went over to the sink and washed up.

"I'm fucking starving," he said. "You want anything?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

Drake dried his hands, then opened the refrigerator. Like usual, everything had his name on it except for leftovers from... _Jesus, two weeks ago? Disgusting._ However, Drake wasn't about to put himself into anymore troubled waters, so he grabbed the McDonald's to-go bag and set it onto the counter. He reached inside and pulled out a pack of french fries, then a hamburger, which had a couple bites taken out of it. He took a bite, his stomach growling in agreement. Being locked in the closet made him feel as though he hadn't eaten in weeks.

"You're just gonna eat that cold?" Rhinestone was grossed out.

Drake shrugged. He preferred it cold. It was easier to taste that way for some reason. Although Triple C's had pretty much killed his taste buds, the coldness hitting his tongue almost seemed to wake them. Also, fries were never edible after being reheated.

"Why don't you let me buy you something?" Rhinestone offered. Even the meth-head pitied him.

Drake shook his head, then swallowed before speaking. "I'm fine." He hungrily put a couple fries into his mouth at once. They were dry since they were so old, so he chased them down with his beer to avoid choking.

Rhinestone hopped up onto the counter. He pulled out his cell phone and, soon after, music started playing.

 _ **All this wasted space**_  
 _ **This whole room it takes**_  
 _ **Hard to stay awake**_  
 _ **This is my escape**_

 _ **If we fill it back up**_  
 _ **Amphetamine rush**_  
 _ **Set me on fire tonight, tonight**_  
 _ **If we fill it back up**_  
 _ **Amphetamine rush**_  
 _ **Set me on fire tonight, tonight**_

 _ **It's getting critical, getting critical**_  
 _ **I gotta let it got, gotta let it go**_  
 _ **You're my chemical, you're my chemical**_  
 _ **Killer, killer, killer, killer**_

"I brought a can," Rhinestone said suddenly as the music set the mood.

Drake grinned.

* * *

 _ **Stabs me in the back**_  
 _ **Takes me all I have**_  
 _ **Wrestle to the floor**_  
 _ **See you soon for more**_

 _ **If we fill it back up**_  
 _ **Amphetamine rush**_  
 _ **Set me on fire tonight, tonight**_  
 _ **If we fill it back up**_  
 _ **Amphetamine rush**_  
 _ **Set me on fire tonight, tonight**_

Drake sluggishly slid off of the couch, his shirt rolling up as he did so. He rested his bottom on the living room floor. He leaned his head back against the couch, and his eyes rolled backwards towards his skull. The ends of his lips were curled upwards ever so slightly.

Rhinestone grinned, then reached over and grabbed the can of dust-off out of Drake's hand. He put the nozzle to his lips and pressed down, then inhaled.

 _Fsshhhhhhhhhhhh!_

" **IS THIS NOT WEIRD TO YOU?** " Rhinestone asked with an unnaturally deep voice. He was already sitting on the floor. He'd found that it was safest, for he'd taken his fair share of falls whilst blacking out. His voice returned back to normal after he exhaled. "After your girlfriend died doing this and all?"

Drake moaned as a response, unable to comprehend anything except the sound of Rhinestone's voice bouncing around his brain, but the words were all jumbled up.

Rhinestone put the can up to his friend's mouth and pushed out a long hit of the air.

 _Fsssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!_

Drake instinctively inhaled, and within seconds, he dropped onto his side with his mouth hanging open in a dopey manner. Rhinestone took advantage of the blackout he'd forced upon Drake and pulled a tiny baggie out of his own pocket. He opened it, then poured some of the white powder onto the coffee table.

 _ **It's getting critical, getting critical**_  
 _ **I gotta let it got, gotta let it go**_  
 _ **You're my chemical, you're my chemical**_  
 _ **Killer, killer, killer, killer**_

After he straightened the meth into two long lines, he glanced at Drake. He was running low on his meth, and he didn't want to have to share it. That's why he wanted to do it in secret. The boy was still out, but just for an extra precaution, he gave him one more hit. He grabbed a cut-up bit of a McDonald's straw that he kept in the front zipper of his bag, then got onto his knees and leaned over the table.

And it was at that moment - as Rhinestone followed one of the lines with the end of the straw - that Martin opened the front door. The man's jaw dropped at the sight before him. Drake was unconscious on the floor with a can of dust-off nearby, and his old pal was snorting drugs on his coffee table.

"Get out!" the man yelled.

Rhinestone jumped, his eyes wide. He was on his feet and out the door in no time. Martin slammed the door behind him, then quickly went over to his son.

"You alright?" He patted his face a couple times. "Drake, answer me. Drake! Shit!" Martin grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket, then dialed the police. "God damn it, Drake. Fucking ridiculous."

"San Diego Po-"

Drake's eyes opened slowly. He furrowed his brows and blinked, looking around him with confusion. "Dad?"

Martin hung up the phone then.

Suddenly, Drake seemed more aware of the trouble that he was in as his memory returned to him. "Dad! Shit!" He started to scoot himself backwards, but the man grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. "I can explain!" he tried as he was led down the hallway and into his father's room.

"You can explain why that queer nigger is snorting meth on _my_ fucking coffee table?! I can't believe you brought that shit into my house!" He roughly guided his son into the bathroom-

"Don't," Drake pleaded.

-then whipped open the closet door.

"Dad, don't!"

The man forced him inside, kicking him into submission until he was able to close the door. He grabbed the padlock off of his counter, locked it over the door, then exited his room with a huff. As he made his way down the hall, Megan stepped through the front door with the mail in her hand.

"Who was that?" she asked, pointing towards the direction that Rhinestone had ran.

Martin grabbed one of the empty beer cans that Drake had had and held it against the edge of the coffee table, then started wiping Rhinestone's other line of meth into it. "Drake and one of his friends snuck in here to get high." He was furious. What if Megan had been the one to walk in first instead of himself?

"Drake?"

"I tried to chase after him. I just wanted to talk. He bolted out the back door when he saw me." Martin hadn't realized how much he was shaking with fury until he knocked the beer can out of his own hand, spilling some of the white powder onto his carpet. "Son of a bitch!"

"Are you okay?" Megan asked softly as she took a few steps closer and placed her hand on her father's shoulder.

The man looked up at her with a forced smile. "I'm fine, sweetheart." He patted the top of his daughter's hand.

"Why don't you let me vacuum this up?"

Martin pushed himself out of the floor. "It's okay. I'll get it." He started to leave the leaving room and head towards the hall closet that held the vacuum, but he paused and turned back to his daughter. "Let's not mention this to your mom, okay? It'll just worry her." After Megan's nod of agreement, he exited the living room.

* * *

Drake belched and put the back of his hand over his lips. He exhaled through his teeth, then took a deep breath. The Triple C's were gonna hit soon. He could feel the pre-high: the restlessness, the numb, tingling lips, the nausea. Unfortunately, he had to focus on keeping it in.

 **Dad: I dont give a shit. Shouldve thought of that before u took them**

 **Drake: dad im rely gonna puke evrywher just let meout 4 sec**

 **Dad: I cant believe u have the audacity to ask me for anything rught now**

 **Drake: i didnt no he had meth i sware**

 **Dad: fuck off**

Drake angrily slammed his phone against the floor. "Fucking dick!" he exclaimed quietly. He burped again, but this time, he felt vomit on his tongue. He cringed as he swallowed it back down and put his hand over his mouth again for extra precautions. With his free hand, he reached up and tried the door knob. It couldn't hurt, right? Just in case maybe somehow he'd gotten lucky enough for Martin to have forgotten to lock him back in. Unfortunately, Drake wasn't a lucky guy, and there was no getting out of here unless his father allowed it.

 **Drake: just 2secs ill b queit**

 **Dad: didnt I tell you to leave me the fuck alone**

 **Drake: do u want me to puke all over all ur shit**

 **Dad: do it and ill kill u**

Drake closed his eyes as a heavy wave of nausea hit him. Once again, the bile crept up his throat, but he gulped it back down. _You've got this. Just hold it in._

On the contrary, however, Drake didn't have this. It was only mere seconds later that he threw up on himself. He tried to cover his mouth, but the liquidy puke seeped through his fingers. The chunks of the McDonald's he'd consumed earlier that couldn't fit through the cracks rested on his palm. Because the closet was so tiny, he was leaning back. Therefore, the vomit slid down his chin and neck, then covered his shirt and was able to slip under it and drip down his chest.

"Son of a bitch!" Drake was immediately grossed out. Just looking at it and smelling it and feeling it all over him made him want to throw up all over again. He wiped his hand off on his shirt. "Fuck," he whispered. He sat there for several moments, unsure of what to do, before he decided on removing his shirt. It was a harder feat than he'd expected because of the lack of room, but he managed to get it off. He rolled it into a ball with all of the grotesque contents on the inside, then he wiped off his chin, neck, chest, and his hand once again. "Jesus Christ." He tossed the dirty tee at his feet with irritation.

When he rested his hand on the floor next to him, he found that there was a puddle of his vomit there. He felt himself being sick again and the disgusting bile squished against his skin. At that moment, he felt something drip on his stomach and looked down to find more of the excretion. Another drop revealed the source to be some of the vomit that had sprayed on the bottom of the shelf above him. He flinched when it dripped onto his skin again.

"Oh, god damn it." He reached for the shirt that he'd tossed towards his feet, but the space was so cramped that he couldn't grasp it. "Fucking shit!" He grabbed his cell phone.

 **Drake: theirs vomit evrywhr let me out pleZ**

 **Martin: CAN I JUST FUCKIN ENJOY MY TIME WITH MY DAUGHTER WITHOUT U FUCKIN BOTHERING ME EVERY 5 FUCKIN MINUTES?!**

Drake gagged at the stench. He was just barely able to swallow back down another round of puke before it escaped his lips. No fucking way could he stay in here any longer. He gave up on texting and instead called his father. He put the phone to his ear, but it immediately went to voicemail. _That fucker turned off his phone! Son of a bitch!_

Drake clenched his fist and pounded on the bottom of the door three times with fury before giving up.

* * *

Drake awoke from his restless doze when he heard music playing. He couldn't remember falling asleep. _Fucking great._ He'd slept off his high. _God damn it!_ The young man pushed that thought to the side and focused on the music. It was close by - definitely in his father's bathroom, but there was no way this music belonged to Martin.

 _ **Hey, girl, open the walls, play with your dolls**_  
 _ **We'll be a perfect family**_  
 _ **When you walk away is when we really play**_  
 _ **You don't hear me when I say**_  
 _ **Mom please wake up, Dad's with a slut**_  
 _ **And your son is smoking cannabis**_

Drake was never the best at understanding people feelings when they were explained to him by any means. However, he could connect with them on a lyrical level, and right now, listening to the words coming from his sister's iPad, he felt heartbroken.

He and Megan were never really that close growing up. He'd always assumed that maybe she blamed him for their parents' divorce, but after learning that she was aware of the physical abuse, he started to suspect that it was something else. Looking at him and just being near him probably made her uncomfortable. Maybe not being close to her brother would help her to forget what he'd had to grow up with, and ignorance is bliss, right?

How many times had she witnessed the abuse? Drake obsessed over this thought all the time now that he was aware that his sister knew. Was it, like, two or three times? Or was she always there hiding in the background and watching it all happen. He just wanted to know, but maybe it was better that he didn't. Maybe he couldn't handle the truth.

 _ **No one ever listens, this wallpaper glistens**_  
 _ **Don't let them see what goes down in the kitchen**_

 _ **Places, places, get in your places**_  
 _ **Throw on your dress and put on your doll faces**_  
 _ **Everyone thinks that we're perfect**_  
 _ **Please don't let them look through the curtains**_

 _ **Picture, picture, smile for the picture**_  
 _ **Pose with your brother, won't you be a good sister**_  
 _ **Everyone thinks that we're perfect**_  
 _ **Please don't let them look through the curtains**_

Drake's eyes went wide with panic when he heard the lock outside of his door rattling around. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit! What do I do?_ He couldn't let his sister find him in here. That's fucking embarrassing. And if she realizes that he'd been living here, he'll have to leave because he doesn't want to be bombarded with "love" and "support" and "encouragement."

The noise stopped for a moment, and the footsteps disappeared. _She's looking for the key. Megan's looking for the key!_ The young man pulled out his cell phone and did the only thing he could think of: he texted his dad.

 **Drake: were the hell ru megan tryin 2 open closset**

Moments later, he received a response.

 **Dad: 2 minutes away**

 **Drake: tf do i do**

 **Dad: stay quiet. I swear to god ill kill you if you make me look bad in front of my daughter.**

Drake's muscles tensed when he heard a clanking noise. _Don't, don't, don't, don't, don't_ , he prayed. Once again, the key wasn't a match. Drake let go of his breath. _Oh, thank God._ But he knew he had to do something. He couldn't risk having her find him.

 _ **D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E**_  
 _ **I see things that nobody else sees**_  
 _ **(D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E**_  
 _ **I see things that nobody else sees)**_

Megan paused the music on her iPad, then followed the noise of her ringing phone into her (and Drake's) bedroom. She picked it up off of her dresser and looked at the screen.

 _Drake..._

"Hello?" she said almost too eagerly.

"Megs?"

"Drake, where are you?"

"I'm at a friend's," he said vaguely. He was always vague.

"Dad said you were here earlier."

"Yeah."

"Why did you run?"

There was a pause. "I don't know."

Megan used one finger to push down the flap on her free ear so that she could hear better. "Why are you whispering?"

"My friend's asleep. Um, but I just wanted to call to tell you how sorry I am that I ruined your birthday."

"It's okay," she said, brushing it off. She was just glad to hear from her brother.

"It's not. I was gonna come, though. You know I'd always come through for you."

"It's okay," she said again, and this time, her voice cracked slightly.

Drake himself was getting emotional when he heard her trying to keep her tears back. God, he missed her so much. "I never meant for things to be like this."

"Then why don't you come home?"

 _I've got a drug problem. I'm not ready for this to be over. I've fucked up too much._ There were so many reasons, but none of them would suffice.

"I don't know," he said.

"We all miss you so much." It was then that the waterworks began, and he could hear the change in her voice.

Drake leaned his head against the wall as his eyes watered over. "I'm so sorry, Megan."

She sniffled and wiped her eyes as she took a seat on her bed. Her voice was an octave higher. "It's okay."

"If I would've known then what I know now, I never would've started using. I'm so fucking sorry for hurting you. And Mom and Josh." Drake wasn't so sure that it was the truth, but he liked to pretend that it was. However, he couldn't imagine a world where he said no to Charlie. He was certain it didn't exist.

"It's okay."

The entire conversation was basically Drake saying that he was sorry even though he wasn't and Megan assuring him that she was fine even though she wasn't.

The girl sniffled. "I think I hear dad coming in. He wanted to talk to you."

"Uh, no, actually I've gotta go," Drake wiped the water from his eyes.

"Wait. Don't." She'd hardly spoken a word to her brother in the past several months, and once again, he was about to disappear from her life.

"Even though it may not seem like it, I want you to know that I love you so much."

"I love you, too." Megan sniffled. "Promise me you'll call."

He knew she wouldn't fall for his lame excuse, but he said it anyway. "I've been really busy-"

"Promise me."

Drake hesitated. He hated making promises that he knew he wouldn't keep. Maybe he'd just have to keep this one. "I promise."

Martin stood in the doorway with a bag of Chinese take-out. "I got dinner. Is that your mom?"

Megan heard the line go dead, so she put her phone down. "It was Drake."

"Drake?" Martin was surprised. It was then that he noticed the water around his daughter's eyes. He set the food onto the nightstand, then took a seat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "What did he say?"

"He just said he was sorry."

Martin rubbed her back as Megan leaned her head against his chest. He could feel tears soaking his tee. "He's gonna be okay, sweetheart. You don't have to worry about him."

"I just miss him."

"We all do. But I know he's gonna come back one day. He's strong enough to fight this."

Although he was giving Drake a bunch of fake compliments, he was pissed off at how selfish his son was. So many people stressed and worried themselves sick just hoping that he was alive and well. Drake didn't deserve their love. He didn't deserve their tears. He didn't deserve these people at all.

* * *

Drake's eyes shot open when he felt himself hit the tiled floor of the bathroom. He felt a sharp pain in his wrists and shoulders, and when he looked down at his hands, he found that they were bound together by a zip-tie.

"What the fuck, dad?" he said, still groggy. He attempted to wiggle his hands free, but it was no use.

Martin turned his nose up at the stench emanating from his closet. "Jesus, it smells putrid in there. You puked all over everything?!"

"I tried to tell you."

"Get up." Martin snatched his son up by his hair, then tossed him towards the tub.

Drake landed on his knees in front of it and found that it was filled with water. He knew what was coming. He fought harder to release his hands. The young man shook his head. "Dad-"

"You're a singer." the man said. "How long do you think you can hold your breath for? Two minutes?"

"I'm also a smoker," Drake said.

"Well, that's too bad. I'm gonna need at least two minutes."

The young man turned to look at him and his eyes were immediately on the bulge in Martin's pants, for it was right in his face. His father unbuckled his belt and slid the zipper down.

"Where's Megan?" Drake said, grasping at straws.

"Audrey picked her up." He saw that his son was about to speak again, but he was getting tired of hearing his voice. "Unless you're gonna blow me, I suggest up close those lips of yours and turn around."

Drake definitely didn't want to put Martin's private part into his mouth. That was like giving in. That was like willingly being apart of what was happening. He'd given "oral pleasure" to two different men in his life. First, there was Martin. It was the day before his family had come back from summer vacation. The man had forced him to do it. Hoping that his father would stop inflicting pain on him and fearing that he was going to be killed, Drake did it, and to this day, he hadn't forgotten about it. The way it had felt, the way Martin had grabbed his hair and taken control, making him gag - the memory of everything was absolutely sickening. Coach Tad was the other man. A complete fucking asshole. And he'd demanded that Drake swallow. Drake wasn't a science guy by any means, but it felt like Tad's DNA had meshed with his own, and now he carried a piece of him everywhere he went.

Martin snatched his son when he didn't turn around like he was commanded to. This brought Drake out of his thoughts. He had no time to prepare before his stomach collided with the edge of the tub and his head was forced under. Although Martin wasn't holding him down, it was still a struggle for Drake to lift himself up because of the zip-tie. The man took this time to yank Drake's jeans down his legs. He snatched them off so that it would be easier to spread them apart. He reached for the bottle of hand soap on the counter and squirted some onto his palm. Just as he started lathering his private member, Drake resurfaced and took in a deep breath of air. There was a bit of splashing as he tried to hold himself up.

Unfortunately, Martin was ready. "Take a deep breath." He forced his son's head under the water again and then entered him.

This time, Drake could feel the pressure of his father holding him down. He couldn't reach back and grab him because his hands were secured in front of him. He wiggled his torso and attempted to stab Martin's rib cage with his elbows. It didn't work. Drake raised his arms and tried to pull himself up, but the wall was too slippery for him to put his weight against. In the process, he accidentally knocked over shampoo and conditioner bottles and soap. These landed in the water around him. Martin lifted his son up by the hair on the back of his head.

"Ahh!" Drake squeezed his eyes closed with pain. "Dad, stop." He coughed.

"I told you to take a deep breath, didn't I?"

"Stop."

"I'm giving you another shot."

"Don't." Drake tried to reached the wall with his zip-tied hands so that maybe he could hold himself up. Then maybe he'd be able to get out of this.

"Going once..."

"Stop."

"Twice...?"

Drake shook his head and coughed some more. "Don't."

"Last chance."

At that moment, the young man felt his head lowering and saw the water getting closer and closer. Right at the last possible second, he took in a deep breath. Drake remained still this time. There was no use fighting it. He could feel every single pump as Martin violated him. Drake was just thankful that the man had used some sort of lubricant this time. He rarely did, and it hurt like a bitch. Sometimes it would take ten minutes for him just to be able to work the whole thing in there. Martin preferred it without lube, though. Although Drake felt as though he was being ripped apart back there, the man enjoyed the friction. It was a means for a better orgasm, he'd say. Fucking sicko.

Despite what was happening to him, it was rather peaceful down here. He felt like it was the closest to escaping he'd ever get whilst sober. The water pretty much silenced any grunts or foul words slipping from Martin's lips. It was an entirely different experience now that there were no purposely exaggerated sounds coming from his father.

However, the calmness was soon over when Drake started running out of breath. He tried lifting his head, but his father wouldn't allow it.

"I'm not finished yet," Martin said, his hips bucking.

Drake frantically squirmed and squirmed, but it was no use. The young man had never fully appreciated oxygen until this weekend. Martin had tried to drown him several times already in the last couple days. The man had used this technique before, but now it was happening more often than it used to. Since Drake had become numb to his old punishments, Martin was searching for new things to make him tick. He wanted to break him. He wanted to see his son cry. That's what he got off on. It was orgasmic to have so much power over someone else.

Martin was just beginning to peak when he saw bubbles rise to the surface. He could feel his son convulsing violently. _Just a little bit longer._

Drake was choking. This was it. He was going to die. He lifted his arms and banged them against the side of the tub. This was the only way he could get a message out to his father. Why wasn't he letting him up? He tried one last time to protest any way that he could, but it was no use. Darkness took over. His soaked skin on his forearms and hands squeaked as it slid down the shower wall, and he became absolutely still other than his head, which still jerked against his father's hand as his unconscious body instinctively continued its fight for air.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I just wanna say thanks to my best friend Rose and MultiGlory13 for always leaving a review. You guys get me through the writing when I feel like no one is reading this series anymore. I have had a few anonymous reviews sprinkled around. I would love for those reviewers to either sign in and review or just sign a made-up name each time you review so I can thank you personally in my author's notes and directly speak to you if you bring up good points or questions or something.**

 **I've just been kinda half-assing this story at this point because I feel like there aren't many people interested in it anymore, so I would like to finish and move onto writing something new. But please, tell me your thoughts on things. And not just "I wish Martin would go to jail" or "I want Drake to clean up" because if that happens, what kind of story would I have then? The entire thing would be over at that point. I just wanna know your thoughts and suggestions and critique. Also, talk to me, please, if you like any songs I use ever! I just like music. Ha ha. Okay, so I'll leave this here. Please review, guys, because I just need to know that this sequel isn't some shitty flop. Thanks a bunch!**


	5. Couch-Hopper

Drake's eyes shot open wide and he took in a deep breath of air. Water sprayed from his lips like a fountain, causing him to feel choked once again. He coughed violently and, in his panic, he grabbed a fistful of his father's shirt and pulled himself up slightly. His frantic eyes met the man's indifferent ones. Martin had almost fucking killed him! It had actually happened! And the sick son of a bitch didn't even look like he cared in the slightest.

The young man let go of his father and started sliding back. He was livid, and he wanted to be as far away from Martin as fucking possible.

"Take it easy," Martin said as he watched his son pathetically scoot away.

It was obvious to him that Drake was terrified. As he pushed his naked body along the floor, his fingers trembled wildly, and he couldn't take his fear-filled gaze away from his father's. For the first time in a long time, Martin actually saw tears streaming down the boy's face. He could see the confusion in Drake's eyes. His son felt...betrayed?

"You tried to kill me!" the young man croaked, his voice cracking and going in and out.

"Oh, don't exaggerate."

Drake still hadn't fully caught his breath, but he pushed himself up and grabbed his jeans. He quickly started to pull them on before Martin could keep him from leaving. "I fucking hate you!"

"Excuse me?! I just saved your life! How about a little fucking gratitude?!"

"Fuck you!" Drake spat. As he buttoned his jeans, he stormed out of the bathroom.

"You're gonna get back here and clean this up!" The man stood up to follow him.

"Eat shit!"

Martin marched out of the bathroom and through his bedroom. He found Drake stomping towards the front door. Furious by the way his son was speaking to him, he quickly caught up to him and snatched him back by his hair.

"Ahh!"

Martin then shoved Drake's head forward with heavy force, causing it to collide with the wooden door. He yanked his hair again, then pushed him forwards several more times, his rage completely taking over. When he finally let go, Drake stumbled backwards, then dizzily fell onto his bottom, his forehead dripping with blood. His eyes were spinning in his skull, but he didn't have time to get his proper vision back before he was dragged onto his feet, then tossed into the living room. Drake fell against the coffee table, and the force of Martin's throw caused it to collapse under his weight.

"Aaahhhh!" He started to roll off of the sharp pieces of wood that were stabbing into his skin, but his father got on top of him, wound his fist back, and punch him in the mouth. "Aaahhh!"

For a split second, Drake could just barely see the anger in Martin's features, but then he was punched again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. The young man lift his arms as an attempt to cover his face, but this didn't phase his father in the slightest. It just now occurred to Drake that Martin had been yelling at the top of his lungs this whole time.

"-KILL YOU! DISRESPECTFUL WISE-ASS LITTLE PUNK! NEXT TIME I'LL FUCKING LET YOUR SORRY ASS DIE! FUCKING TALK TO ME LIKE THAT AGAIN! I DARE YOU!"

After one last punch, Martin panted for breath. He tiredly pushed himself to his feet, then looked down to admire his work. Drake's face was covered in blood: his nose, his lips, his cheek - everything. The boy lifted his head, squinting his eyes with pain, but he was too weak, so his head fell back against the broken table.

"Mmm..." he half-groaned/half-whined.

"Tell me you're sorry."

Drake lifted his arm and touched the left side of his face. It was completely sore, and when he pulled his hand back, he found that his fingertips were covered with blood. Drake's jaw was dropped open. He wiggled it around because he could feel something inside of his mouth that didn't belong. He turned and spat. Along with a splatter of blood, one of his teeth landed on the floor next to him.

"Fuck," he whispered almost inaudibly. He let go of a sob as he pushed himself up just enough to start scooting himself back. When he did this, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his right bicep. He turned his head and saw that, as he lifted his torso up, his arm was being pulled off of a nail that was sticking out of a piece of wood. His face contorted with pain, but he continued anyway, another sob leaving him. Tears stained his cheeks. "Aahh-haa!" he yelled when he was finally lose. He clutched the injured spot tightly as blood seeped through his fingers, then he weakly started pushing himself backwards. However, he didn't make it far before he was yanked to his feet.

"FUCKING TELL ME-"

"Ahh!" left Drake's lips when he was shoved backwards against the wall.

"YOU'RE SORRY!"

But instead of an apology leaving Drake's lips, a bloodied loogie did. Martin's eyes instinctively closed when he first caught sight of something flying towards his face. He felt it land on his cheek. The man wiped it off, his hands shaking with fury. His tone went back to its normal volume, but he was anything but calm.

"Get out."

"Gladly." Drake pushed himself out of the man's grip, then stomped towards the exit.

"And Drake?"

"What?" the boy spat, whipping the door open.

"Don't ever step foot on my property again."

"You don't have to worry about that." And then he stepped outside and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Drake sniffled as he pushed the window up with his good arm. Unfortunately, he had to use both to have enough strength to pull himself up. "Ahh! Fuck," he sobbed, his voice cracking.

Just as he was struggling, Rhinestone opened the door to his bedroom and stepped inside while typing something on his phone. His eyes lifted when he heard the banging sounds of Drake weakly attempting to get his foot up and over. "Oh my God!" He tossed his phone onto his bed and hurried over to his friend, then helped him climb inside.

"Ah! Ah!"

"Are you okay?! What happened?!"

When Drake was inside, he sniffled. He spoke as if he wasn't currently steadily weeping. "Is it okay if I crash here tonight?"

"Well, I'm supposed to go to Wes' tonight because I'm leaving to visit my mom in Nevada tomorrow." His mind changed as he examined the boy. "But I can tell Wes to come over here."

"Is your aunt here?" Drake asked as he moved towards the door.

"She went out on a date, but she'll be back in an hour or two probably."

Since the coast was clear, the boy exited the room and moved down the hallway. Rhinestone followed him into the bathroom. It was divided into two rooms: the first one containing the sink, counter, and mirror, and the second one containing the toilet and shower. Drake stopped in the first one and examined his reflection.

"Shit," he whispered.

"What happened to your arm?" Rhinestone asked.

Drake glanced in that direction and saw that he was bleeding through the white hoodie he'd stolen out of his father's truck. He carefully started to remove it. "Do you have a band-aid?"

"Yeah." Rhinestone opened one of the cabinet drawers and pulled out a box. He watched as Drake pulled the hoodie over his head, hissing in pain. When the injury, along with the bruises left over from Marcellas' guys, were in his sight, he said, "Jesus Christ. You're gonna need more than a fucking band-aid."

Drake turned and looked at the wound in the mirror as Rhinestone rummaged through the drawer some more. He soon found some gauze pads and cloth tape.

"Here." He patted the counter, so Drake hopped up. "Let's clean you up, sweetie." Rhinestone grabbed a washcloth and wet it. He put a bit of soap on it, then gently grasped Drake's arm to keep it still. As he dabbed at the wound, the injured boy clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed. He gripped the edge of the counter so tightly with his free hand that his knuckles turned white.

"What the hell caused this?"

"I fell against the coffee table and a nail went into my arm."

"Holy shit. Your dad's a fucking jerk."

"Believe me. I know. Ow, ow ow!" He reached for his wound because he instinctively wanted to protect it from pain, but he stopped himself and let Rhinestone do his thing.

"I'm sorry."

Drake changed the subject in hopes that it would distract him. "How long are you gonna be in Nevada?" It was still obvious by the sound of his voice that he was in pain.

"Two weeks."

"That's where you're from?"

"Yeah."

"Why'd you move to Cali?"

Rhinestone smirked. "To get clean."

Drake couldn't help but chuckle as well.

"My mom thought it would be a good idea for me to get away from it, so she sent me here to stay with my aunt."

"Did she not know that the entire world is full of drugs or...?"

"I guess she just thought I wouldn't be able to find it because I didn't know anyone here."

"How long did it take?" Drake asked.

"Mm, maybe half a day, give or take a few hours. But I just used once. I did get clean after that. From meth anyway. For seven months. That's when I started using Triple C's." Rhinestone placed the washcloth in the sink and let the faucet water run over it to get the blood out. He grabbed the gauze pad and gently placed it on the puncture wound. "Can you hold this right there?"

Drake did. Rhinestone picked up the tape, then pulled out a long piece and tore it with his teeth. He stuck it on the right half of the pad, securing it to Drake's skin. He peeled off another piece of tape.

"Okay, you can move your hand." When it was out of the way, he put this strip of tape over the left half. "Does it stick when you move your arm around?"

Drake tested it out, but he didn't wiggle it too much because it still hurt like hell.

"I think it'll hold." Rhinestone put up his supplies, then picked up the washcloth and wrung it out. He place his curled up pointer finger under Drake's chin so that the boy would face him and raise his head higher. He then started cleaning off the dried blood on his cheek.

"I really appreciate this," Drake said.

"Don't mention it, boo."

However, Rhinestone was the type of guy who would do the exact opposite. He will always bring this up in order to get Drake to do what he wants. He will always remind Drake about everything he's done for him: every free shelter, every free meal, every free drug. It starts out with Rhinestone bumming a cigarette from the boy even though he has his own, and it gradually grows into something like requiring Drake's firstborn child. Until Drake started pulling his weight in this relationship, he will always be a slave to Rhinestone, and that's the way Rhinestone liked it.

* * *

Drake was absolutely exhausted. Although being locked inside of his father's closet had been excruciatingly boring, it had been almost impossible to sleep. There were a few restless naps here and there, but he was awake most of the time, and that had been pure torture. Currently, he was sitting on the front steps of Rhinestone's porch, and the way the boy anxiously paced back and forth made him even more tired just watching. Drake took one last drag from his cigarette, his eyelids droopy. They'd been waiting out here for about twenty minutes, and he was just finishing up his second cigarette. Assuming that it would be a lot longer before Wes showed up, Drake turned sideways and laid on his back. He picked up Rhinestone's pack and pulled out another cigarette. He grabbed the lighter and flicked it. A puff of smoke left his lips as he turned his head towards Rhinestone, who was rapidly typing on his phone.

"What kind of phone do you have?" Drake asked, the cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Some shitty Samsung phone. I forgot what it's called."

"Shit."

"Why?" Rhinestone asked.

"My phone's dead."

"What kind is it?" He was still typing away.

"iPhone."

"Wes has an iPhone. He'll let you use his charger."

Drake lazily lifted his arm and gripped the cigarette between two fingers, pulling it out of his mouth. He exhaled smoke and rested his arm by his side, allowing it to hang over the edge of the porch. He flicked away the ashes, then rested his eyes.

* * *

"Drake!"

The boy's eyes shot open and he took in a sharp breath. He looked around with confusion, trying to decipher what strange place he'd fallen asleep in this time. Rhinestone's porch. That's right. He looked up and saw Rhinestone and Wes watching him with concern.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Rhinestone said. He held out his hand to help the boy to his feet. "You dropped your cigarette. You gotta be careful. You could burn the house down falling asleep while smoking."

"Sorry. I'm just kinda tired."

"Let's wake you up a little then." Rhinestone grinned, then wrapped an around Drake's shoulders and led him inside.

* * *

Drake followed the line of white powder with the end of the straw, then clutched his pounding head as the ingested chemicals made their way up to his brain. He squeezed his eyes closed, and the severe pain was gone within seconds. When he opened his eyes, he caught sight of the mirror in front of him. He saw that Wes and Rhinestone were making out on the bed. Drake's gaze then moved to his own reflection. Jesus, he looked like fucking hell. On top of the cuts and bruises from earlier today, Drake's face was completely roughed up by Marcellas' crew. It was absolutely humiliating and degrading to always walk around this way. He tried to hide behind make-up, sunglasses, and a hoodie, but even those couldn't cover all of this. Everyone who passed by him could see that he was just some weak guy who couldn't stand up for himself. He was trash.

On top of the things about his body that were caused by others, he had fucked up his appearance in his own ways as well: his drug use, his lack of proper hygiene, his malnourishment. He had a couple pimples on his face caused by the sweats that the Triple C's gave him. His hair and skin were oily and unkept. He needed to shave. He needed to do so much, and the idea of it all exhausted him, so he didn't do anything. He was skinnier than he could ever remember being in his entire life. It was hard to budget his money to be sure he had enough for his pills and food. And Charlie always came first. He was starving now. The last time he'd eaten was when he'd snuck out of the closet yesterday afternoon, and he hadn't even eaten much of that because Rhinestone had surprised him with a can of dust-off. He wanted a meal in his stomach, but he was too ashamed to ask for food.

Drake lowered his head and looked down at his body. He was wearing Rhinestone's Dresden Dolls shirt that Mindy had bought him at some point in time. He'd chosen this one because he missed her. He missed having someone who made everything not so bad. He missed having someone look up to him for his drug use instead of putting him down. He missed being the smart one, the trusted one, the envied one - everything he currently wasn't. He missed not being so alone.

The young man sniffled. _Jesus Christ, am I getting sick_ again _?! Fuck me._

Suddenly, a bottle was slid across the dresser into his line of vision. He looked to his left and saw Wes. Drake smiled. It was fake, but he wanted people to know that he was okay. However, he knew that Wes and Rhinestone had probably caught him pitying himself. Every now and then, Drake would back away from everyone, and his smile would fade, and in that moment, his true feelings would show. But only for a short period of time. Then he would step back into his place in life and force a smile. Everyone was doing it, he supposed. It just felt like he was the only one most of the time.

Wes nodded his chin and glanced at the bottle of vodka. "Go on," he said. "Terrance said you could use a little pick-me-up."

Drake had almost forgotten Rhinestone's real name because no one ever really used it besides his aunt. The young man brushed that thought to the side and picked up the bottle. He unscrewed the lid and turned the bottle upside-down over his mouth. His face immediately contorted, and he closed his eyes. He hated the taste. However, he pushed through it, and after five gulps, he set the bottle down and coughed at the strong smell. He belched.

"Jesus," Rhinestone said from the bed.

"Well, shit. Drake ain't playing around." Wes picked up the bottle and took a big swallow.

* * *

 _ **Caught up and I can't feel my hands**_  
 _ **No need to chase**_  
 _ **Can you relate, c**_ _ **an you keep up the pace  
Like you're dying for this**_

 _ **And when you say "I'm not okay"**_  
 _ **I left my phone in the cab**_  
 _ **Now you can't get me**_

 _ **I'm only getting started**_  
 _ **I won't blackout**_  
 _ **This time I've got nothing to waste**_  
 _ **Let's go a little harder**_  
 _ **I'm on fire**_  
 _ **I won't blackout**_  
 _ **I'm on my way**_  
 _ **I'm only getting started**_

Drake slid his back down the dresser and plopped into a sitting position in the floor.

"Shit, are you okay?" Wes asked.

Drake turned the bottle over his lips, unaware that he was supposed to reply to the boy.

"He's fine," Rhinestone said. "It's your turn." He handed his boyfriend the dice.

Wes' eyes rested on Drake's for another moment before continuing their probably hundredth game of Farkle. The young man glanced at the paper with the scores written on it. "How did you get that many points just now?"

"If you would've been paying attention, you would've seen it."

"I just wanna make sure Drake's okay," Wes said. "And you're cheating."

"No, I'm not."

Wes squinted his eyes suspiciously, but gave a cute smile to express his indifference as to whether or not Rhinestone was giving himself extra points when he wasn't looking.

Drake took another long swallow, then looked at the bottle. There was about a fifth left, and Drake couldn't recall Wes or Rhinestone drinking much except for when it was first opened. They hardly seemed buzzed now. Had he really drank this much? Maybe he _was_ his father.

Drake pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and went to his text messages.

 _ **I can't see your face  
**_ _ **Cigarette the wrong way  
**_ _ **Inhale to the top of my lungs  
**_ _ **I've been dying for this**_

 _ **And when you say "I'm not okay"**_  
 _ **I left my phone in the cab**_  
 _ **Now you can't get me**_

 _ **I'm only getting started**_  
 _ **I won't blackout**_  
 _ **This time I've got nothing to waste**_  
 _ **Let's go a little harder**_  
 _ **I'm on fire**_  
 _ **I won't blackout**_  
 _ **I'm on my way**_  
 _ **I'm only getting started**_

"Who are you texting over there?" Rhinestone asked, watching Drake fervently typing on his phone.

However, the intoxicated boy didn't hear him.

Rhinestone pushed himself up and leaned over, curiously snatching Drake's phone away.

"Don't," Drake said, lifting his head and watched the grin on Rhinestone's face gradually fade away as he scrolled.

"Jesus Christ, Drake."

The young man drunkenly pushed himself to his feet, then tried making a grab for his phone. "Fuckingiveitback,okay?" he slurred.

Rhinestone dodged it. "How long have you been doing this?" His finger moved faster, and the screen blurred.

"Rhinestone!" Drake reached around him, but he was no match against his friend's sobriety.

"You're still texting Meelah's phone? Jesus, how many times?"

Wes looked at Drake sympathetically, making him feel embarrassed.

"Gimmemyfuckinphone!"

"Terrance, give it back to him."

" _Meelah, I miss you_ ," he said. Then he read another. " _Meelah, I'm so fucking sorry._ " And another. " _You're probably disappointed in me today more than most. Today just hasn't been a good day. I'm sorry._ " And even more. " _Wish you were here. I wish it would've been me instead of you. This is all my fault. I need you. I can't do this without y_ -"

Finally, Drake managed to grab his phone. "You'reafuckinasshole!" His cheeks became a darker shade of red than the alcohol had made them.

"Relax, Drake."

"Forgetit. I'moutofhere."

"You're drunk," Rhinestone reminded him.

"Andyou'reaprick!" Drake stepped forwards.

Rhinestone was surprised that the boy was challenging him, but he held his ground. "Do you really wanna add more bruises to the ones your daddy already gave you?"

"Youfuckin-"

"Alright, alright!" Wes got in between them and separated them. "Jesus. Can't we just get along?"

Although Drake was angry, he had nowhere else to go tonight. He couldn't fuck this up while he still had a place to stay. Also, Rhinestone had been right. He was too drunk to make it anywhere. He stepped back and sat down in his spot on the floor.

"Bitch," Rhinestone huffed under his breath.

Drake heard it, but he bit his tongue. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and took a swig.

 _ **I won't blackout**_  
 _ **This time I've got nothing to waste**_  
 _ **Let's go a little harder**_  
 _ **I'm on fire**_  
 _ **I won't blackout**_  
 _ **I'm on my way**_  
 _ **I'm only getting started**_

 _ **This won't stop till I say so**_  
 _ **This won't stop till I say so**_  
 _ **This won't stop till I say so**_  
 _ **Going and going and going and going and go, go**_

 _ **This won't stop till I say so**_  
 _ **This won't stop till I say so**_  
 _ **This won't stop till I say so**_  
 _ **Going and going and going and going and go**_  
 _ **I'm only getting started**_

* * *

Drake opened his eyes and immediately regretted it, for the sun shined through Rhinestone's window and blinded him. He turned over, then had another go at opening his eyes. This time, they were squinted, but he could clearly see that Wes' face was mere inches from his own, and he could feel the boy's body pressed up against him. He tiredly groaned, then rubbed his eyes.

"How ya feeling?" It was Rhinestone. He was snuggled up to his boyfriend on the opposite side as Drake.

"Like shit," the boy answered.

"I was gonna make some eggs and sausage and French toast. Your stomach was growling _all_ night."

That's embarrassing, but it all sounded so yummy. Since he'd gotten his stomach pumped almost a week ago, he could remember eating twice. "Sorry. Did I keep you up?"

"No." Rhinestone hadn't slept because of the meth.

They didn't talk about what had went down between them last night. They didn't feel the need to. It was over and done, and nothing could change it.

There was a knock at the door. Rhinestone pushed himself up and opened it. It was his aunt.

"Just wanted to make sure you were getting ready."

"I'm about to. Gonna make some breakfast first."

"Have you got everything packed?"

"Yeah."

Drake noticed the several bags next to the door. This must be how Rhinestone had spent his night after he and Wes had fallen asleep.

"We're leaving in two hours. I'm gonna drop you off at the train station, and your mom should pick you up from there. You have your ticket, right?"

"Yeah."

His aunt nodded, then disappeared down the hall. Rhinestone closed the door and turned, rolling his eyes. Why was he rolling his eyes? His aunt was nice.

Rhinestone laid back down, then wrapped his arm around Wes and started kissing his neck to wake him up. He wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before he left. Wes opened his eyes, then smiled when he saw his boyfriend. He pushed his lips against Rhinestone's. Drake wasn't sure if they wanted to do a quick morning fuck or what, so he pushed himself up and grabbed his phone off of the charger. Since he was right next to the wall, he had to crawl over their legs to get out. He exited the room, closing the door behind him quietly, then he walked down the hall and went into the bathroom. He looked at his phone and saw that he had two missed calls from his mom: one from from yesterday and the other from this morning. One day, he's gonna finally answer her calls and make her the happiest woman in the world. One day.

The young man was surprised and relieved when he saw that he still had a toothbrush with his name on it here. He hated the feeling of grossness on his teeth. The toothpaste was right next to the sink, so he picked it up and put some on the bristles, then he wet it and started brushing his teeth. It was almost impossible not to vomit. He was pretty hungover, and he felt sick to his stomach.

As he brushed his teeth and stared absently into his reflection, he pondered about where he'd go tonight now that Rhinestone was leaving town. Is Wes too little of a friend to ask? And doesn't he live, like, an hour away? Would it be too much for this little of a friend to ask for a week's worth (until Rhinestone was back) of shelter, free meals, and a place to bathe. Wes seemed pretty cool. He sometimes mentioned his roommates and the fact that people come and go a lot, but Drake was too prideful.

Going back to his dad's was definitely out of the question. That was for damn sure. His mother's house as well. If he went back there, he would be thrown into a rehab before he could even fathom what was happening to him. After his fight with Ricardo, that probably wasn't the best option either.

"Oh! Drake!"

The young man jumped out of his skin when he heard Rhinestone's aunt's voice. He met her eyes in the mirror for a moment.

"I knew I heard someone in here. I thought it was Terrence. I didn't mean to startle you."

Drake spat the toothpaste into the sink, then wiped it off of his mouth and turned to face her. "It's okay."

"Goodness, what happened to you?" She seemed concerned about his injuries.

Drake shook his head as if it was nothing. "I just got mugged the other night. I'm okay, though."

"And they did all that?"

"I tried to put up a fight, and I guess they weren't too happy about it. And when they finally got me down, I didn't even have any money on me."

"That's terrible! Did you file a police report?"

Drake shook his head and shrugged. "They're not gonna find them. It's not even worth the time."

"If you say so."

She started to leave, but Drake stopped her. "Um, is it okay if I shower here?"

"Oh course. Help yourself."

He thanked her, and after she disappeared down the hallway, he turned the sink faucet on again, cupped some water in his hand, then washed the toothpaste out of his mouth. He cleaned his brush, set it back in the toothbrush holder, then went into the part of the bathroom with the toilet and shower, locked the door, and stripped off his clothes.

* * *

When Drake entered the kitchen, Rhinestone looked up from the frying pan and noticed that the boy was still wearing a pair of his pajama pants and his Dresden Dolls shirt. "You want to change? You can borrow another shirt. And your jeans are in the dryer."

"That would be great. Thanks."

"Wes, can you watch the food?"

"Sure." The young man took his boyfriend's spot and grabbed the spatula from his hand.

Rhinestone led Drake into his room, then opened the closet. "You like Green Day?"

"Anything's fine."

Rhinestone grabbed a black tee off the hanger and handed it to Drake. The young man saw that it was the picture on the cover of the American Idiot album with the hand gripping the bleeding heart grenade. He remembered when this album had first come out. It had been a pretty big deal amongst himself and his friends. He pulled off the Dresden Dolls shirt and replaced it with the new one.

"It's kind of chilly out." Rhinestone also handed him a thin red and black plaid button up collared shirt. "Going full emo today. Let me know if you need some black eyeliner and nail polish." He patted Drake's shoulder, then led him back into the kitchen.

"I think it's done," Wes said.

On the opposite side of the kitchen was an opening to the laundry room. Drake went in there and tossed the old tee into the hamper, then he grabbed his jeans out of the dryer. They were still warm.

"Don't let your aunt come in here," Drake warned as he removed his pj pants. He'd been in such a hurry to leave his father's house that he'd only grabbed his jeans and the hoodie he'd found in the man's truck. He had no shirt, no shoes, and no underwear. He slipped on his jeans, then went back into the kitchen.

Rhinestone had made Drake's plate because he knew that Drake would only get a tiny bit to save himself the embarrassment. He filled the boy's plate, and so that he wouldn't feel less dignified, he made his and Wes' with the same great amount.

"Thanks," Drake said as he took the plate and sat down.

Wes placed a coffee mug in front of him. "Cream or sugar?"

"No, thanks. This is fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Rhinestone?"

"A lot of both."

Drake's stomach growled in agreement as he looked down at the enticing meal in front of him, but he waited for the other two boys to sit down at the table and begin eating before he did. Even though he tried to eat super slowly and not look like he was a starving bum, he was the first one finished with his breakfast by a landslide. When his friends were done, he grabbed their plates and took them to the sink.

"You don't have to do that," Rhinestone said when he saw that Drake was washing the dishes.

"I got it," Drake said. "I'm gonna head out after this." He felt like a third wheel, and he didn't want to continue to get in between Wes and Rhinestone during their last hour together.

"I'm gonna miss you." Wes gave his boyfriend a kiss.

"I'll miss you to."

"Be sure to call me everyday."

"You know I will." Rhinestone stood and, before prancing off to his room to get ready, he stopped and humorously gave Drake a kiss on the cheek. "I'll miss you, too."

* * *

Kenzly giggled when she found herself pinned against the wall outside of her bedroom. She didn't really know the guy who was kissing her - he was a friend of a friend - and honestly she wanted it to stay that way. He was super hot, but his personality and listening to the things he had to say made her want to jump off of a bridge. She didn't care about his classes or his football scholarship. She cared about his dick and where she wanted him to put it. She removed her hand from his cheek and moved it down to the doorknob. She twisted it, then pulled him into her room with a grin, which immediately dropped when she saw who was laying on her bed.

"Drake?"

The boy's eyes shot opened as he awoke and he took in a breath. He glanced out her window and saw that it was dark outside, then he looked over at her again and saw the guy standing behind her. He quickly popped up into a sitting position. "Shit." He removed the covers and reached for his shoes. "Sorry."

"Who the hell is this guy?" the college sophomore behind her asked.

Kenzly noticed the bruises on his face. "Jesus, Drake, are you okay?"

"Is this your boyfriend?!" He was starting to get angry.

"No!" Kenzly and Drake answered defensively at the same time.

"Are you fucking him, too?"

"No," she said.

Drake pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his phone off of the charger. "Sorry, dude. I'll get out of your way."

"Forget it. I'm out of here."

Kenzly turned and called after him. "Bryce!"

"This is just a little too weird for me."

When he was gone, the girl sighed, closed the door, then laid down on her bed. "You might as well stay now," she said to Drake.

"I'm so sorry." He sat back down. "I didn't know you were bringing someone back. I tried calling you."

Kenzly wasn't mad. This wasn't the first time Drake had snuck into her room when she wasn't home. She patted on the empty space next to her, silently telling him to lay down. He did.

"The guy you're working for did that to you?" She didn't seem overly concerned or surprised, and that's why Drake appreciated her friendship.

"Yeah."

"What did you do this time?"

"I might have gotten super fucked up and gave out a bunch of his ex at a party without getting the money for them."

"Jesus." Kenzly laughed, making Drake laugh right along with her. She just had a way of making him feel comfortable and not like she was judging him. "You're so stupid! I can't believe he still lets you sell for him."

It felt good to be able to laugh at his problems. Recently, he's been spending way too much time feeling sorry for himself.

"So where have you been all day?" Drake asked.

"My friend set me up with this guy."

"Hot, but not your type?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Because you say that about every guy you sleep with."

"I do not," she protested.

"You even said it to me."

"Well, shit. I was a bitch."

"Maybe a little."

Kenzly laughed. "I really dodged a bullet with you, huh?"

"Oh, definitely. Look at me. Psychological damage up to here." Drake lifted his hand for a moment.

"I only liked you for your _It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia_ quotes."

"And I only dated you for your Netflix," he joked back.

Kenzly grinned. "We were a perfect match, huh?"

"I thought so."

"I can't believe you cock-blocked me, though."

"I didn't know," Drake said defensively.

"Make it up to me?"

The young man looked at her and smiled. He honestly wasn't in the mood. He was so tired and stressed out about being kicked out and having nowhere to go. That didn't mean he couldn't give her pleasure, though. However, he couldn't be bothered to really get her going. Maybe Bryce had turned her on enough so that he wouldn't have to. Drake moved to the foot of the bed. Kenzly bent her knees and spread her legs apart. She was wearing a miniskirt. Drake slid her underwear down her legs and pulled them off. He pushed her skirt upwards, then put his head between her thighs.

* * *

Kenzly laughed, then spoke into her cell phone. "Yeah, I know. He wasn't my type anyway."

Drake turned as the girl entered her bedroom again. She had her phone in between her ear and shoulder because her hands were full. She held a plate that contained four grilled cheeses in one and two Heinekens in the other. He flicked the cigarette she'd let him have out her window, then grabbed the beers from her.

Kenzly sat down on the foot of her bed. "Oh, no, it's okay. Tell Josh I said hey." After a moment, she said, "Alright, goodnight. Love ya."

Drake sat down on the floor. He grabbed one of the sandwiches, then leaned his back against her bed and took a bite. He absently stared at the TV, which was playing some episode of Key & Peele. Drake knew that Kenzly had been talking to Mindy. Back during the summer when his father had locked him in the basement for close to two weeks, Mindy and Kenzly had become best friends. Rhinestone had told him that the two had gotten into some legal trouble. He'd never really asked either of the girls about it although he was curious as to what the fuck they were thinking getting high at a park after sundown.

"How is she?" Drake asked, looking to the side. He couldn't see her because she was sitting behind him on the bed, but it helped so that his almost inaudible voice was able to travel to her ears.

"We've talked about this, Drake. I told you I'm not gonna-"

"I know, I know." He looked at the TV again and sighed. "You're not gonna talk about her when you're with me and you're not gonna talk about me when you're with her." He took another bite of his sandwich.

"That would just complicate everything."

"Yeah, I know," he quietly agreed.

"Why don't you just talk to her yourself if you care that much?"

"I can't."

"Why not?" Kenzly asked.

Drake shrugged. "I treated her like shit."

"You separated yourself from her because you wanted to try to clean yourself up. She's gotta understand that."

"I don't think she will," Drake said. "When I left her, she got on meth and got clean, and she has no problem talking to Rhinestone even though he's always tweaked out of his mind. I told her I couldn't see her anymore because she made me think of Charlie."

"Not to say her addiction wasn't anything, but she was on meth for a couple months. You've been steadily using Triple C's for, what, two...three years?"

"I just don't think she sees it that way."

"You'll never know until you ask her."

* * *

Drake awoke with a start when his leg was slapped with a magazine. He opened his eyes and saw Kenzly's mother looming over him. He groaned, and his voice was strained from tiredness. "Mmm, what?"

"Open this."

Drake pushed himself up onto his elbow, then grabbed the jar of grape jelly out of the woman's hands. He struggled with it because he was half-asleep. When he got it open, he handed it back, then rested his head on the pillow again. He could hear her leaving the room. He turned his body and looked over a sleeping Kenzly at the digital clock on her nightstand. It's fucking three a.m.! Jesus! He could tell that she was high on her Xanax, as she often was. He had no room to judge, though. His father was just as shitty. However, Martin was constantly pounding on Drake while Kenzly's mother hardly even acknowledged her existence. Maybe that's why he felt so comfortable around Kenzly. They were both trailer trash.

* * *

Drake yawned tiredly as he stood in front of the stove, frying a few eggs. It was seven in the morning. He hated the days when he woke up super early even though he had hardly slept in a week. It was especially strange since he was coming off of Triple C's. He'd started his day off at Rhinestone's yesterday, and after he'd left there, he'd really had nowhere else to go, so he'd spent probably eight hours absently walking off his hangover around the city before crashing here. His legs were feeling the burn now.

As Drake grabbed some plates out of the cabinet, he heard Kenzly's mother Amelia (Amy for short) calling from the living room.

"Drake, bring me my medicine, will ya?"

The young man had thought she was still passed out on the couch. Maybe he'd woken her by moving around. He grabbed some silverware from the drawer, then picked up two of the plates. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed two beers. Drake carried them to the kitchen and set a beer and a plate full of eggs onto the coffee table in front of her.

"You're out," he said, then he sat down on the couch. It was a lie. Well, kind of. She was out, but only because Drake had taken a few for himself.

"Son of a bitch."

Drake felt kind of bad. He knew what it was like to be without his vice. He grabbed her plate off of the table and put it in her hands. "Why don't you eat something? You can call your doctor later. It's still early. They're probably not open."

Amy exhaled with irritation, then reached past the plate and picked up the beer instead. Drake went back to eating his food and watching an infomercial for some sort of magic cleaning towel.

It wasn't long after that Kenzly walked into the room wearing only a pair of light blue panties and a tank top. She groggily rubbed her eyes. "You made breakfast?"

Drake nodded, then pointed towards the kitchen with his fork since his mouth was full. She disappeared in that direction for a couple minutes, then took a seat next to Drake on the couch.

This is how they spent their morning, and Drake had never felt like he belonged somewhere more than he did now with these people.

* * *

The beginning to a familiar Violent Femmes anthem filled Drake's ears. He looked up at Kenzly, who was sitting on the foot of her bed, and he smiled. They used to listen to this _all the time_ together. She started bobbing her head roughly with the drums and moving her shoulders back and forth. Her hair was a mess, and she was sweating slightly. Drake was as well. They'd both taken a couple ecstasy pills, and everything felt great right now.

 ** _When I'm out walkin', I strut my stuff, yeah, I'm so strung out_**  
 ** _I'm high as a kite, I just might stop to check you out_**  
 ** _Let me go on like I blister in the sun_**  
 ** _Let me go on, big hands, I know you're the one_**

Drake laughed as Kenzly started dancing even more crazily. "Quit fuckin' moving!" He tried to hold her foot still by placing it on his knee. He leaned forwards with the black nail polish brush, but he put it back in the bottle because she kept wiggling around.

 ** _Body and beats, I stain my sheets, I don't even know why_**  
 ** _My girlfriend, she's at the end, she is starting to cry_**  
 ** _Let me go on like I blister in the sun_**  
 ** _Let me go on, big hands, I know you're the one_**

"Jesus Christ," Drake said. "Can you chill?" But he had a wide grin on his face the entire time. However, it soon disappeared when the bedroom door burst open.

"God damn it, Kenzly, turn that fucking racket off! Your mother and I can't even hear ourselves think!" The music silenced when Amy's on-again/off-again boyfriend yanked the radio cord out of the wall.

"The fuck are you doing here, Jeff?!"

The carelessness and happiness was suddenly gone when Kenzly laid eyes on the man. Drake didn't like him either. He was a prick. He was very grabby with Kenzly, and her pill-popping mother never once took her side. Every adult Drake knew that was addicted to some sort of chemical substance was a complete asshole to their kids. Drake often wondered if he'd be the same way when he grew up and had a family of his own. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe it was the best decision after all to let Josh raise his and Mindy's baby.

"Your mother invited me," he said, then he whispered, "I guess that bitch needs money again, huh?"

Pissed by his comment and the fact that he was even here, Kenzly stood and started to slam the door in his face. However, he grabbed it and flung it open, then gripped her biceps roughly.

"You little cunt!"

Drake pushed himself up, but he didn't make it in time before she was slapped. "Whoa, let her go, man!"

Jeff violently slung Drake onto the floor, then pointed a finger at him and yelled, "You stay the fuck outta this, you little bitch! Looks like you already got your pussy ass beaten once!"

"Fuck you!" Drake spat. The only way he knew how to get Jeff's anger directed away from Kenzly was to steer it towards himself.

Just as the man clenched his fists, Kenzly stormed past him, knocking him to the side with her shoulder. He whipped around and followed her into the living room. Drake was right behind them.

"What the hell is he doing here?!" Kenzly demanded from her mother.

"Don't be rude!" Amy said. "I asked him to come."

"He's a fucking prick! He's just using you! He's a drug addict!"

Her mother was appalled by her comment. "And you're telling me that you don't have a fucking junkie sleeping in your bed at night?" She glanced at the young man. "No offense, Drake."

"Uh..." He shook his head, but it was unclear if it was because he was telling her that he wasn't offended or that he didn't want to be apart of their argument. Maybe both.

"You know he's just gonna leave you again," Kenzly said.

Jeff acted surprised and took a seat next to his girlfriend. He wrapped his arms around her. "No, I won't. I love your mother." He kissed her cheek.

Kenzly was enraged by his cocky demeanor. "I want him out!"

"Don't be a bitch," Amy said.

"If he's not leaving, then I will."

Drake started to see that this conversation was heading south. Where would he go if he couldn't stay here? "Kenz-"

"No, Drake. I'm serious." And she was. This wasn't the first time she's left home until he disappeared on her mother. And she always came back and had to take care of the mess he would leave behind.

"I'm not gonna make him leave." Amy didn't want to choose sides, but this was enough of an answer for Kenzly.

The young woman marched down the hall and into her bedroom. When Drake caught up with her, he saw that she had her suitcase open on her bed and was filling it with clothes.

"Are you really leaving?" he asked.

"Yeah." Her voice was hard.

"Where the hell are you gonna go?"

"Your mom will let me stay there. She loves me."

"Well..." _Where the hell am I supposed to go?_ But instead, he said, "You stay at my mom's a lot?"

"Not a whole lot. Just sometimes when Jeff comes over and acts like a fuck face."

"You sleep in my bed?"

"No, your mom doesn't let anyone sleep in your bed in case you decide to come back," Kenzly said, unintentionally making the boy feel guilty. "I sleep on the couch in Josh and Mindy's room." She zipped up her bag, then carried it down the hall and into the bathroom.

Drake followed her and watched silently as she grabbed her toothbrush and hairbrush and stuffed them into the side pocket of the bag. _What the fuck am I gonna do now?_

"I know you probably don't wanna come with me," she assumed. "You didn't come over because your friend kicked you out again, did you?" She never pried about his living situation although she found it strange that he never told anyone who he was staying with.

Drake shook his head. "Nah, I'll just go back there. It's no big deal." _I'm so fucked._

* * *

Drake had his hands in his pockets as he trudged down the sidewalk. It was dark now, and it was starting to get cold. He was thankful that Rhinestone had given him the long-sleeved button-up shirt. It didn't do much, but it was better than the thin tee that was under it. He regretted that he'd left his father's hoodie at Rhinestone's house. The right sleeve had a huge bloodstain on it that was impossible to get out, so he hadn't planned on wearing it. However, he would've appreciated it now.

His legs were exhausted. He'd been walking aimlessly for hours now. He guessed it was just a matter of time before he ended up here.

Drake passed tombstone after tombstone. He knew exactly where he was going, and when the familiar gravestone was in sight, he slowed his pace. Sometimes, he had to come here to remember. Sometimes, his brain was so clouded up that he wasn't sure if it had all been a bad dream. He stood there staring at the stone for a moment, then sat himself down on his knees. He traced her name with his fingertips... _Meelah Decody_. Her mother had wanted her to be a doctor. That's why she'd made it so that her initials were _M.D._ She'd thought that she was pretty damn clever. Meelah didn't want that, of course. What child ever wanted the things their parents wanted for them? But she could've been something...well, she had already been something great. Drake thought so, anyway. Anything was better than dead. Just dead. That's all she was now.

 _"Do you want me to run and get a can?"_

 _"Drake..."_

 _"We'll just take a couple hits and throw the rest away. Just to get this feeling out of our system. And then we'll be okay. We'll feel better. For old time's sake."_

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as his eyes welled up with tears. "It was supposed to be me."

He always thought " _what if?" What if I had taken that fatal hit instead of her? What if I didn't bring up the idea of using again? What if I had relapsed on my own without convincing her to as well and just let her dump me? What if I never started going back out with her because I knew I couldn't keep it up. What if I'd never met her in the first place? Would she still be here? Would I still be here? In this very spot? With nowhere else to go? Still an addict?_

 _"This is a really bad idea. It's been months since I last used."_

 _"The can was never a problem. Charlie was. This hardly counts."_

Drake turned and sat on his bottom. He rested his head against his ex girlfriend's tombstone. There were numerous other tombstones around him. At least she wasn't alone now. He often pondered how she'd felt during her last moments. _Was it quick? Did she feel anything? Was it painful? Did she know what was happening to her? Was she scared? Did she try to tell me? Was I so fucked up and lost in my own blackout that I didn't know she was crying out for help? Could I have saved her? Was she hurt that I just laid their unable to comprehend that she needed me? Did she feel betrayed?_

 _"It'll be fine. I'm right here. I won't let you lose control again. And you have me. And I have you. We'll be alright."_

 _Meelah sighed._

 _"Don't you trust me?"_

 _"I do... Fuck it. Let's do it."_

A sob broke through Drake's lips. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on his palm as his face contorted. Several more sobs erupted, and they violently shook his entire body. Tears flooded his cheeks as he cried. "Oh, God, Meelah, I'm so sorry."

* * *

"Hey, kid. Kid!"

Drake's eyes shot open when his leg was kicked. The sky was pitch black, and he found himself in a cemetery. The scene was straight out of a horror film. He was filled with fear, and his heart started beating rapidly. He looked up at the strange, gray-haired man who was towering over him and quickly slid himself backwards with his elbows and heels.

"Fuck," slipped out of his lips when his back collided with Meelah's tombstone.

"You can't sleep here," the man said, shining his flashlight in Drake's eyes.

"What?" the young man asked with confusion as he started to realize that he wasn't in any danger. He squinted his eyes, but he was still blinded.

"You can't sleep here!" the old man repeated louder.

Drake lifted his arm to cover his eyes, so the security guard shined his light in a different direction. "Oh. Sorry," the boy stammered. Drake sniffled. He wiped his nose and found that it was freezing. _Jesus, it's so fucking cold!_

"Are you alright, kid?" the man asked.

Drake pushed himself to his feet. He wrapped his arms around himself in order to keep warm as a cold breeze sent shivers down his spine. He sniffled again, for his nose was running.

"Should I call someone?" the man offered.

"No." He started walking past the old man, who turned.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Drake called over his shoulder. "Thanks."

* * *

He couldn't go home...wherever home was. His mom's was out of the question. His father's was an absolutely fucking not. Rhinestone's was a no-go. Kenzly's place was a bust. He'd texted Gemini, who had said he was, for whatever reason, staying with Wes for a while, and Drake wanted no part of whatever betrayal was going on there, for he'd been on the receiving end of one of Rhinestone's vindictive revenge techniques. _Where the fuck else was there?_

Drake pulled out his phone, then scrolled through the contacts until he found Ricardo's number. He hesitated, but his mind was made up when a sharp chill hit his body as if it was ice. It's the middle of the night in the fucking winter! Why the fuck was all this happening now?!

The young man was weeping when he put the phone to his ear, and he felt like he'd lost every ounce of his dignity when he heard the first ring. He choked out a sob. Maybe Ricardo wouldn't answer. Maybe Drake had went too far by putting the scissors to his throat. Maybe-

"Hello?"

Drake opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Hello?" the man repeated again. It was clear that he was at work because of the noises in the background.

There were so many things he wanted to say. _I need a place to stay. Can I crash with you tonight? Can I stay with you forever? Can you help me get clean? Please, don't give up on me. My life is a fucking mess. I want to die._ Drake wasn't sure what to say first. _How about a fucking apology?_

"Drake, you there?"

The boy closed his eyes, then hung up the phone. "Shit." He felt completely helpless. His breathing was quick and deep, but he felt as though he wasn't getting any oxygen at all.

Drake jumped when his phone started ringing.

 _ **Drive boy, dog bo-**_

He immediately muted it. It was Ricardo. Of course he was calling him back. Even after how Drake had treated him, he was always there for him. Just thinking about it made the young man cry harder.

Even though Drake didn't have the balls to ask Ricardo for a bed for the night, he knew he still needed to find somewhere to go. He looked through his contacts until he saw Stevie's name. "Fuck," he said, but he called it anyway.

Drake was sure that he wouldn't answer. The phone had rang several times, but sure enough, his ex-bandmate's voice came through the line.

"Hello?"

"Stevie?" Drake squeezed his eyes closed when his voice squeaked, making it obvious that he was crying.

"What's wrong?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, but his voice still shook. _God, this is humiliating._ "Do you think..." He silently cursed to himself when his voice went up an octave. He cleared his throat and tried to fix it, but it still came out the same. "Do you think I can stay with you tonight?"

"What's wrong?" Stevie asked again.

"Nothing." Drake sniffled. "I just don't have anywhere else to go, bro."

"You know I would let you. But I'm at my girlfriend's."

"Well, can I come over there?" He knew it was rude and that he was overstepping his boundaries, but he was desperate.

Stevie hesitated. "I don't think her parents would be happy if they found two guys in their daughter's room," he said. "What's going on, Drake? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Um..." He wiped a tear from his eye as he gathered the nerve to ask, "Do...do you think you could loan me a little cash? Just a little bit? A couple dollars?"

Stevie knew that he was going to use it to buy drugs, and he couldn't condone that no matter how bad he felt. "I don't have any money, bro."

"Okay," Drake said as if his obvious lie didn't bother him at all. "Thanks anyway."

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Stevie asked again.

And once again, Drake replied with, "I'm fine. I gotta go."

"Goodnight, bro."

Drake said it back, but his voice was practically inaudible. He hung up the phone, then slipped it back inside of his pocket.

 _Where am I supposed to go now?_

* * *

 **Author's Note: Lookie how quickly I'm getting these chapters out. So much faster than the first story. I don't really have anything important to say. Oh, except that I appreciate those who reviewed! Omg, my long-ass reviewer, I'm glad you're back! I thought you'd stopped reading since it had been so long between Charlie Freak and its sequel. Yes, please, review more often because I super love all of your criticism. Also, thanks to Sleepy Owl for the messages that pushed me to write. And Rosypoo. (Tell your brother I called you that).**

 **Anyway, please, review. I tend to update faster that way.**

 **You guys: pLeAsE, rEvIeW. i TeNd To UpDaTe FaStEr ThAt WaY.**

 **P.S. SpongeBob memes are better than men's romper memes. Right, Rose?**


	6. Paradise

Drake shivered as an icy breeze flew up his back. He reached behind himself and pulled the back of his shirt down to cover his skin. He was laying on his side, so he bent his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his arms.

He was at the park in the middle of the night in his and Meelah's spot - the exact spot where she had died. Drake was exhausted and miserable. The ground was uncomfortable and inconsiderate of his bruises. He'd dozed in and out of restless sleep repeatedly. He wished for the sun. Anything to warm his trembling body.

"Aaachooo!" Drake sniffled, then coughed. He'd been laying in this low temperature all night, and he swore he had a fever. "Mmm," he half-groaned/half-whined.

The young man removed his arms from the sleeves and hid them inside of his Green Day tee. He wrapped them around his cold, bony body as an attempt to warm himself. He nestled his head inside of the thin, plaid button-up shirt to keep the wind from his face. He wished he had something to cover his feet. He was still barefoot since he didn't grab any shoes when leaving his father's.

Why did he leave in the first place? Where the hell had he planned on going? Who had he thought would take in a junkie bum and take care of him like Martin had. At least with his dad, he had a warm, comfortable bed to sleep in. Now he's fucked it all up. He couldn't go back there. Martin never wanted to see him again. Maybe he could apologize and beg for forgiveness. Maybe he _had_ overreacted a bit. Maybe Martin wasn't as terrible of a person as he'd originally thought. Now that he was on his own, he was at an all time low. He had no cigarettes. He was tired. He was starving. He was thirsty. He was freezing. He was lonely. He was depressed. And worst of all, he was sober.

* * *

Drake was sitting up. He rubbed his hands together, then cupped them over his mouth and nose and exhaled as an attempt to warm his fingers and nose. The sun was just beginning to light up the sky, and although the temperature had raised a bit, he couldn't feel a difference. His body was numb other than the aches and pains he felt from sleeping on the hard dirt. He was still exhausted, and his eyelids hung heavily over his bloodshot eyes.

"Aachoo!" He sniffled. "Fuck."

Drake wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to. Today was Friday. He had to go to the O and sell for Marcellas tonight, then he would have some cash to buy Triple C's. Until then, he needed to figure out where the fuck he was going to be staying tonight. Last night had been hell. Some food would also be nice. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning at Kenzly's. The thought alone made his stomach growl.

Drake squeezed his eyes closed and groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. He lifted his arms over his head and stretched, then hissed at the aches in his back. He looked down at his clothes, which were somewhat dirty, but there was nothing that he could do about that. He needed to change the bandages on his bicep and toe so that his large wounds wouldn't get infected, but there was no way for him to do that.

"Aachoo!" Drake placed his palm on his temple. He felt dizzy and weak, but he pushed that thought to the side and started walking.

As he made his way through the park and to the sidewalk, he saw that Ahmed's gas station was still closed. He thought about waiting around for a couple of hours until it was open and grabbing a hot dog, but he hated going in there for free food, especially when he wasn't buying cigarettes or anything in return. _God, a cigarette would be nice right about now._

* * *

Drake slid into the booth in the corner and visibly relaxed. He had been walking forever, but he'd really had nowhere to go. It felt like hours that he'd been on his feet. He checked his phone and confirmed this. _Jesus._ He buried his head in his arm and closed his eyes. This was actually pretty comfortable. He might've even fallen asleep had it not been for an overly-cheery waitress' voice jolting him into full alert.

"My name is Julie. I'll be your server today. What can I get for you?" She didn't look up from her writing pad.

"Um," Drake said quietly. "Can I just...get a glass of water?"

"Sure. I'll be right back." And just as quickly as she had come, she was gone.

Drake rested his head on his palm. Jesus, he was definitely running a fever, but there was nothing that he could do about it. _God, what am I gonna do? I have no money, nowhere to go._ A voice in the back of his head whispered, " _Go home_ ," but he couldn't do that. He couldn't let them take Charlie away from him. He felt like crying. He just wanted to break down and scream. However, he was in public, and it wouldn't help anything anyway.

"Here ya go."

"Thanks," Drake said quietly, but she had already rushed off to another table. He ripped the paper off of his straw, then put the straw inside of the cup and took a long sip. Before he knew it, all the liquid was gone. He hadn't realized just how thirsty he was.

The young man folded his arms on the table again and laid his head on them.

* * *

Drake couldn't even begin to describe the discomfort he felt about having to face Marcellas for the first time after what had transpired not too long ago. However, it was better than being out in the cold. He wasn't sure he could take another chilly breeze brushing against his skin. He groaned as he ascended the stairs, his entire body aching. He just wanted to rest. He just wanted to sleep. And never wake up.

He walked across the upstairs V.I.P. area and stepped over a rope, then moved down a familiar hallway and turned. Up ahead, he saw a man guarding a door. Drake put on a fake smile, then made some joke about a recent football game that he'd googled highlights for on his phone just for this specific moment. However, the man didn't flash a smile. In fact, he didn't even look at Drake at all. Drake knew that he was in a lot of shit after being so irresponsible with Marcellas' pills and that he may never get that trust back, but he hadn't expected to be iced out like this. Not from Cedric.

Drake walked through the door that was opened for him, and he immediately felt several pairs of eyes on him.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence," Rashaad said.

"And he's early." It was the man who had shoved him out of the moving truck a few nights back. Kavon, he thought.

"I honestly didn't think you would show up. I thought you were gonna make us come look for you." Rashaad patted his back hard as he walked by him.

Drake tensed up, and he was visibly uncomfortable. Another man laughed at this. Jackie. That was his name.

 _Knock! Knock!_ Rashaad rapped on the other door with two knuckles, and a couple seconds later, it opened. An irritated Marcellas stood in the opening. On the bed behind him were two fully unclothed women.

"Your boy's here."

Marcellas disappeared inside of the room for a short moment, then he stepped out to join everyone else and closed the door behind him. He examined Drake, looking over his crew's handiwork for the first time since it had happened although what they had done was indistinguishable from what his father had done. "How are you doing, Drake?"

"I'm okay," the boy replied.

Marcellas held his hand out, and immediately after, a bag of the tie-dye pills were placed onto his palm. "I think we need to have a little talk about some of the events that went down."

Drake was nervous, and he instinctively took a step back. The last time someone from this crowd had wanted to "talk," he'd had his ass handed to him.

Marcellas wrapped an arm around the young man's shoulders and firmly gripped one. He led Drake over to a recliner and said, "The problem is, Drake, you never told me that you were a junkie."

Drake was forced into the seat. He looked to his right out the large glass window at all the people partying below. He wondered if any of them was paying attention to him. Maybe someone would come to his rescue if Marcellas got too threatening.

The man snapped and whistled shortly, almost as if Drake were a dog. "Right here." He pulled the boy's chin so that Drake had to face him.

"I-I'm not," he finally stammered.

Marcellas sat on a tall bar stool that was brought over to him, forcing Drake to have to look up to him since he was higher up. It was a technique he used to make people feel inferior and fearful, and it was working on Drake, who shifted in his seat. "Don't lie to me."

Drake didn't speak. What was he supposed to say? He'd already been caught in a lie.

"I don't usually have junkies working for me," the man said. "However, you're a friend of a friend. I wanna believe that you can be trusted with this responsibility."

Drake didn't want it. He didn't want to deal for this guy at all. However, he feared that they'd make him do something even worse to collect the money he owed them if he wasn't selling ecstasy.

"So I'm gonna give you another chance. But I swear to Christ, Drake, if you fuck up one more time, I'm not gonna be able to keep you around anymore." He squinted his eyes and nodded. "If you catch my drift."

The young man gulped, and he, too, nodded.

"I like you, Drake. I think you're a dope guy. I would hate if something were to happen to you... Or your family."

 _Shit. Oh, shit. What have I done? What have I gotten into?_ God, was he serious? Would he actually go after his family to hurt him? Were they _that_ fucking ruthless? He'd been in a lot of pain after what had happened inside the back of the moving truck. He couldn't imagine what they would do to his mother or his siblings.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Drake's voice came out as a whisper. "Yes."

"I don't want anyone to get hurt. I just want my money," Marcellas said. "That's why I've changed some things. First off, no more coming and going whenever you please. I want you here by eleven o'clock every Friday and Saturday. You got me?"

"Yeah," the young man said quietly.

"Secondly, there's no longer gonna be a profit for you. That's not how this works. I only did it because I liked you. Everything you earn from now on - I will be keeping."

"What?" Drake said, mustering up the courage to protest. "Come on."

"I think we both just want the other out of our hair as quickly as possible, and this is the fastest way to do that."

"But I need that money," the boy dared to argue, scooting up towards the edge of his seat.

"That's not my problem. My problem is that you borrowed ten grand from me. That's the only thing I care about."

The number of threatening men and the memory of what they were capable of kept the boy tame and silent. Drake sighed. What was he going to do without his "paycheck?" How could be support his drug habit? How could he feed himself? How could he bribe people for a place to rest his head?

"I want my fucking money, Drake. You've hardly made a dent in paying me back. You better start brainstorming ideas about getting cash to me faster because I'm getting really impatient. I know you can pull together a big amount of money when you have to. Well, now you have to."

Drake looked down at the pills that were dropped onto his lap. In his mind, he started retracing all the steps he'd taken to wind up here. How had a guy like Drake come to be affiliated with a guy like Marcellas? It just didn't add up. How had he made such an error in judgement? Borrowing money from a drug dealer? What had he been thinking?!

He didn't ponder it too long. He just wanted to be out of this room, so he picked up the bag and started towards the door.

"Make me proud out there."

Drake froze and tensed up when he felt Marcellas spank his ass. The man laughed at his reaction, and several of the other crew members followed suit. He chose not to stand up for himself. These guys were unabashed about the guns that were sticking out of their waistbands. When Drake was surrounded by them, he was their bitch. There was no denying that.

* * *

"Fuck, what the hell happened to your face, man?!" Drake heard for the hundredth time that night.

The young man felt so stressed about every aspect of his own life right now that it was impossible for him to force a smile and strike up a bullshit conversation like normal. He wanted to pop a couple of these ecstasies, but he was too fearful. Every single time he glanced up at the large glass room, he could see one of Marcellas' men eyeing him, just waiting for him to fuck up.

"I got jumped," he yelled over the loud music, then he pushed that conversation to the side, ignoring any other inquiry about the subject. "So how many do you want? Two?"

"I'm actually getting some for my girl, too. You think she should just take one?"

Drake just wanted to sell these and get as far away from here as possible. "No, you should definitely get her two just to make her first time really amazing."

"You think so?"

"Oh, definitely. Trust me."

 _Don't you trust me, Meelah? The can was never a problem. Charlie was. This hardly counts. It'll be fine. I'm right here. I won't let you lose control again. And you have me. And I have you. We'll be alright._

"Yeah, okay."

Drake slyly grabbed the cash, then passed the pills over.

"Thanks, man."

The boy jumped out of his skin when he was grabbed from behind, but he calmed down when he heard a girl squeal his name.

"Drake!"

He turned to see Sandy. "Hey," he said.

"Where the hell have you been?! I didn't see you last week!"

"I was sick," he said.

"Aw," she made a cute pouty face, then grabbed the waistband of his jeans. "I've got something that can make you feel better." She yanked him closer, then pushed her lips against his.

He pulled away. "Uh, listen, we can't... I can't give you anymore free shit."

"Free? I remember paying you for all those pills." She smiled mischievously, and it made Drake uncomfortable knowing that he'd taken part in allowing this girl to pretty much prostitute herself out.

"The guy I'm selling for has really been on my ass lately."

She frowned, mulled it over in her head, then pulled some money out of her pocket. "That doesn't mean we can't still have sex. I haven't had a good lay in weeks."

"Uh..."

"I brought a condom this time." She held it up without shame. The grin on her face was a big one. "What do you say?"

* * *

The next thing Drake knew, he had Sandy pinned against the wall of one of the stalls in the bathroom. His tongue was in her mouth, practically down her throat, and his hands were squeezing her ass. She pushed her crotch closer to him, grinding on him to let him know that she was wet and ready. She unbuttoned each button on her shirt, then pulled it open when she was finished to reveal a light blue bra holding up her sizable breasts. She then unzipped the boy's pants and slid them down his legs. (He hadn't grabbed underwear when leaving Martin's). Unlike her, he wasn't quite ready, so she tried to encourage him a bit.

"I've been a bad girl. I need to be punished." She bit down seductively on his earlobe, and soon, the little nibbles changed to just her sucking on his skin. "I want you to cum so hard that I feel your cock pulsing inside of me." She tugged on his penis rapidly to get him aroused, but after several minutes with no results, the mood was gone. "What the hell is happening?"

"Sorry, I just..." He gripped his private member and tried to get himself hard, but nothing was happening.

"Are you not attracted to me anymore?!" She sounded angry.

"No, it's not that." When Drake looked up at her, he saw that she was on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say besides apologies.

She felt like something was wrong with her and that Drake just wasn't telling her, but she couldn't stand thinking that he was thinking that, too, so she placed the blame on him and put him down. "Forget it." She pushed him away from her and buttoned up her shirt. "You're a pathetic fucking loser, Drake."

"I'm just-"

"Save it. You're not even that great of a ride. Your dick is so small it hardly does anything for me anyway." She unlocked the stall and stormed out.

"Sandy, wait, I-"

However, she had bolted out of that bathroom as quickly as she could. Drake pulled up his pants, but he wasn't ready to go out into the crowd and pretend like none of this had happened. He couldn't remember a moment that he'd ever felt so mortified and humiliated. This has never happened to him before. What in the hell was going on? Why wasn't his dick working? He just wanted to die. How was he ever going to face her again?

The young man heard chuckles coming from a couple stalls over, and his face turned a bright shade of pink. He wanted to leave and curl into a ball and hide from the rest of the world forever, but he couldn't without selling the rest of these stupid fucking pills. Why the hell was the universe taking one big shit on him all of a sudden? What else could possibly go wrong to make him lose any shred of dignity that he had left inside of him.

* * *

Drake was shaking madly as he pushed himself into a sitting position, his face contorting as aches pounded all over his body. He yawned, for he hadn't slept much last night. Although he'd done it before and had known what to expect, the second night of sleeping in the park hadn't gone any better than the first. Not only had the freezing temperature kept him up, but he also hadn't been able to stop thinking about his traumatic experiences at the Oxygen last night. Marcellas had threatened his family and had cut his Charlie funds. And on top of that, he'd had the most embarrassing night of his life, and Sandy's hurtful words had only made him feel absolutely worse about himself. It had made him rethink everything. Were her words true, or was she saying them out of anger? Probably the latter, but he would be a fool not to take them into consideration and learn from them, right? Just in case. Did he do something wrong? Did she fake her orgasms every time? Did every girl that he was with fake orgasms when they had sex with him? And then did they go behind his back and laugh about it with their friends? Was he a complete joke to the entire female species?

Drake had spent all night recounting the times he'd hooked up with a girl, and he was _sure_ that he hadn't been the only one benefiting from it. Right? Kenzly always liked having him around for sexual pleasure. They were friends with benefits. Mindy had even written about it in her journal after they had fucked. Meelah had always seemed to enjoy it. And Molly... However, every time he started to lean one way, he would think of something to counter it. Like, maybe that's why Kenzly had broken up with him. Or maybe Mindy only said that about him because he was the only one she had been with. And maybe Meelah never wanted to tell the truth and hurt his feelings. And what if Molly just had some fetish about doing kinky shit to young, sloppy amateurs?

Drake tried to push those thoughts from his head. He couldn't keep letting himself obsess over them. There were more important things to worry about. Like how he was going to get Triple C's for instance. God, he needed them so badly.

* * *

The second the diner door opened, a delicious aroma wafted towards Drake's nose, causing his stomach to growl with desire. He placed his hand on his tummy as if to shush it, then took a spot in the corner booth like last time. It wasn't long at all before a waitress arrived at his table.

"What can I get ya?"

"Could I get some water in a styrofoam cup, please?"

When he got his Triple C's, he would need something to swallow them down with. And he was definitely going to get those pills today no matter what. This stupid, unwanted, forced sobriety kick was about to end today.

"It'll cost ten cents for the cup."

"Oh, um..." Drake was taken aback by this news. He felt his pockets as if maybe some money had somehow just appeared there. _Jesus, how pitiful. I don't even have a fucking dime on me. Just go with the forgotten wallet excuse. No, don't. That's too overused and pathetic._ "I..."

The woman looked up from her notepad and saw that his face had turned red with embarrassment. Further examining his appearance, she found that he was dirty, smelly, and barefoot.

"I think I forgot my wallet at home." He inwardly kicked himself for saying it, but he hadn't been able to think of anything else.

"It's just a cup. It's no big deal. I'll be right back."

And when she returned with his drink, Drake smiled up at her gratefully. "Thank you." When she was gone, he stuck the straw inside and drank about half. He was so fucking thirsty. He couldn't get himself to stop there. He finished it up and decided he'd carry the empty cup with him to Walmart and refill it using the water fountain.

The young man saw an older couple slide out of a booth a couple tables in front of himself. He watched as they placed their tip onto the table and waved to the waitress, who bid them a kind farewell in return. When they were gone, Drake stood, then headed towards the door. As he passed by their table, his fingers grazed along the top of it, and he grabbed the money, then slipped it inside of his pocket and made his way outside.

* * *

 _ **I'm dead, but I'm living**_  
 _ **I play the part I've been given**_  
 _ **Still kicked out of heaven**_  
 _ **I'm into nothing new**_

 _ **Every day is a battle**_  
 _ **I made a deal with the devil**_  
 _ **And now I'm deep into trouble**_  
 _ **So tired**_

 _ **I was trying to find a better way but every day's the same**_  
 _ **I'm trying to break the numbness and it's driving me insane**_  
 _ **You could be my savior, you could be just what I need**_  
 _ **So I lay down and pray for something better**_

 _ **Go ahead and leave me paralyzed**_  
 _ **There's nothing left to sacrifice**_  
 _ **In hell I'm shooting paradise**_  
 _ **I'm ready so I'll close my eyes**_  
 _ **This is my paradise**_  
 _ **This is my paradise**_

Drake's lips twitched up into a smile as he restlessly rubbed his palm against his forehead. Although his eyes were closed, he could see her clearly. She was laying next to him. God, he missed this. He missed her. He knew that he was only hallucinating - that Charlie was just showing him what he wanted to see - but he was okay with that. Even if it was just for a while, he was finally able to see the love of his life again. And Jesus, she was absolutely stunning.

 _ **It's gonna hurt but I'm ready**_  
 _ **It's clear where I'm heading**_  
 _ **Don't call paramedics**_  
 _ **I'm into nothing new**_

 _ **I'll be gone in a minute**_  
 _ **I'm not afraid to admit it**_  
 _ **So wrong but I love it**_  
 _ **So tired**_

 _ **I was trying to find a better way but every day's the same**_  
 _ **I'm trying to break the numbness and it's driving me insane**_  
 _ **You could be my savior, you could be just what I need**_  
 _ **So I lay down and pray for something better**_

 _ **Go ahead and leave me paralyzed**_  
 _ **There's nothing left to sacrifice**_  
 _ **In hell I'm shooting paradise**_  
 _ **I'm ready so I'll close my eyes**_  
 _ **This is my paradise**_  
 _ **This is my paradise**_

Drake started to worry that Meelah was leaving when she pushed herself up, and he fought harder to take control of his hallucination. Instead of leaving him, she got on top of him, straddling him. Although he could clearly see and feel the girl unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, he was actually doing that himself, and he knew it. However, he found that he was able to get hard for the first time in a while, so he kept going. He started pulling on himself, the drug aiding to create this vivid hallucination of his old girlfriend moving her hips on top of him. The young man let go of a moan. It felt great to relieve a lot of the sexual tension he'd had built up down there. It felt good to be with her again.

 _ **I made a deal with the devil**_  
 _ **Every day is a battle**_  
 _ **Every day is a battle**_  
 _ **This is my paradise**_

 _ **I made a deal with the devil**_  
 _ **Every day is a battle**_  
 _ **Every day is a battle**_  
 _ **This is my paradise**_  
 _ **This is my paradise**_  
 _ **This is my paradise**_  
 _ **This is my paradise**_

* * *

 **Author's Note: I finally wrote a Martin-free chapter just for you guys. Thanks for all of your nice comments. It really got me through my writing. It's kind of a short chapter, but it's just a space-filler so I can connect the last chapter with what is coming in the next chapter. I say the same thing every time, I feel like. So I'm just gonna keep it short. Please, review, y'all. Rose, I used the song!**


	7. Homeless

_(9 days later)_

Drake stumbled down the sidewalk. He felt weak and exhausted, and he wasn't sure that he could make it another step. Although the sun was in the sky and it wasn't nearly as cold as it had been the night before, he was still shivering, and his teeth were chattering. He constantly went from hugging himself to exhaling warm air into his palms and rubbing them together as an attempt to warm himself. His eyes were heavy, and the bright sun caused his head to pound with every step he took. He could use a shave, a shower, and a burger. He hadn't had a bite to eat since he'd stayed with Kenzly, and that felt like forever ago. He constantly had hunger pangs. They'd started about a week ago, and gradually, they'd become more frequent and severe. Just as his stomach cramped up, Drake stopped walking. The pain was so sharp that he could barely move. He hunched over and held himself up by placing a hand on the wall.

Ashamed of his current affliction, Drake forcefully staggered down a nearby alleyway to hide from the judgmental eyes of passersby. He shielded himself behind a dumpster, then leaned against a brick wall and slid down until he was on his bottom, clutching his stomach the entire time. His eyelids were squeezed together tightly. "Mmm..." He tried to take steady inhales, but every now and then, his breaths would get caught in his throat. He tightly gripped the metal dumpster because it helped to have something to hold on to. His knuckles turned white. "Oh, boy. Oh, shit. Oh, god damn." _Just hold on. It won't be too much longer. It'll be over soon._ "Aaah-haaa..." He bit his lip. "Oh, fuck. Fucking shit." He clenched his teeth together and blew out his breath as his eyes watered over. _Just a couple more minutes. Just hang in there._

When the worst of it was over, the young man pushed himself to his feet. There was no time to waste. He had to get to the diner, and this time, he had to spend the tip money that he was going to steal on food instead of on Charlie. He couldn't keep going through this every five fucking minutes.

When he made his way to the diner, Drake stepped through the door and moved over to the familiar corner booth. He thought he had slipped in undetected, but the second he sat down, he was approached by an irritated manager.

"Nuh-uh. No way. Out."

Drake looked up at him with confusion, his stomach still obviously giving him trouble. "What?"

"You've been coming in here for over a week, and you sit here for hours and never buy anything. Half the time, you just sleep."

Drake could feel many eyes on him. Several customers and waitresses glanced his way with sympathetic expressions and looks of discomfort. Why were _they_ uncomfortable? Drake was the one getting his pathetic existence put on blast in front of everyone.

"This isn't a homeless shelter. Either buy something or get out."

"I don't have any money," Drake admitted quietly, his voice filled with shame.

"Then I suggest you leave."

Drake's face was bright red, and he just wanted to die. He felt his eyes welling up with tears as the situation began to overwhelm him, and the fact that he was close to crying in public embarrassed him even more. He started to slide out of the booth, but stopped when he heard a voice.

"Get him a chicken finger basket. I'm buying."

The disgruntled manager turned with a frown to see who was willing to allow such a filthy junkie to dine in his eating establishment, but now that someone was offering money, he couldn't turn him down. "Very well," he said.

Drake couldn't see who it was until the manager stalked off because the kind stranger had been standing behind him, but once he saw his face, his heart dropped.

Coach Tad gave a smile to the boy. "Is this seat taken?" Without waiting for a reply, he set his drink down onto the table and slid into the booth across from Drake, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I must say that I'm surprised to see you here. God it's been...how long? I can't even express to you how much I've missed your little office visits."

Drake's lips tightened, and his nose twitched with disgust. He hated this guy, and seeing him again filled him with an anger that he hadn't felt in a long time. He started to slide out of the booth, but his hand was grabbed.

"Come on, Drake. Don't be like that. Let me buy you a meal. Sit down."

The young man didn't want to, but he was starving. If he didn't get something inside of his stomach soon, he was pretty sure that he was going to die. Against his better judgement, he followed orders, but he made sure that his facial features expressed how unhappy he was about it. He yanked his hand out of the man's grip when the coach started grazing his thumb gently across the top of his skin.

"How have you been?" the man asked.

"Clearly, I'm not at my best," he said rudely. He hated that he was asking him something that was obvious by his appearance alone. Drake hung his head to avoid those lust-filled eyes and that alligator grin.

"I see," the man said with a frown. "You dropped out of high school?"

What did he want him to say? _Yes, I dropped out of high school and became a full-time drug addict instead?_ Was he wanting him to feel regretful? He didn't. School would only add to his stress right now.

"Did your parents find out about the drugs? Did they both kick you out?" Although he said these in question form, they were more statements than inquiries, and this annoyed the hell out of Drake.

 _Smug fucking bastard._ "You don't know shit," he spat.

"Where have you been staying then?"

Drake had no answer, but his silence was enough of an answer for Tad.

"How long have you been living on the streets?"

"This is none of your god damn business."

"Alright, chicken finger basket," a waitress said. She couldn't meet Drake's eyes as she set a plate down in front of him.

"No need to be so damn hostile," Tad said to the boy. "I'm just trying to help."

"And a bacon burger. Extra tomatoes, extra onions."

"Thank you," the coach said, giving her a polite smile. "Do you mind bringing over a Coke for the kid?"

"Sure thing," she said.

When she was gone, the man said, "Look, Drake. You don't have to be embarrassed about all this."

He hated that Tad had been his rescue. He would've preferred anyone else, even his own mother. Well, maybe not. He didn't want her to see the person he'd become. He just wished that he was strong enough to turn down the meal. As he picked up one of the chicken fingers, he could feel the man smiling down at him even though he kept his eyes low with disgrace.

"When's the last time you ate?" the man asked, but Drake ignored his question as a soda was placed in front of him.

He took another bite of the chicken, closing his eyes with satisfaction. God, he was SO FUCKING HUNGRY! The fingers were hot, and they burned his skin and scalded the inside of his mouth, but he couldn't get himself to slow down.

"Where have you been staying?"

Drake shoved three French fries into his mouth at once and had to consciously focus on not moaning with pleasure. He couldn't remember ever tasting anything this good. He wondered why he'd never eaten here before when he'd had money or parents to pay for him. He'd never had chicken fingers as delicious as these.

Tad observed the boy. He resembled a skeleton and his frail fingers never once stopped shaking. "Are you feeling alright? You're looking kinda pale."

Drake had shoved so much into his mouth at once that he was close to choking, so he chased the food down with his Coca-Cola, then immediately went right back to scarfing down the grub. That is, until Tad snatched his plate away and set it next to himself in the booth. For a split second, Drake's expression was that of a child who had woken up to find no presents under the tree on Christmas morning - but only for a second - then it changed to anger.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," the man demanded.

Hesitantly, Drake met his eyes, and a shiver went up his back just looking at him. Despite all of the drugs, he remembered clearly the way they had looked as he was pinned against a wall. He remembered the excitement in them when the man's hands had slipped inside of his jeans. He could recall the satisfied expression when he'd felt him. He was sick.

"I've been nothing but nice to you. I'm trying to help you out of the kindness of my heart. I could've taken you to the bathroom and made you give me a handjob for this meal, but I genuinely care about you, and clearly, you need some fucking help. The least you could do in return is to treat me with some fucking respect. Do you understand me?"

Drake's nostrils flared with disgust. _He wants to talk about fucking respect?! What a hypocrite!_

Tad turned and met eyes with one of the waitresses. He flagged her over and whispered, "He's done," exaggerating his mouth movements so the lady could read his lips. She nodded and started to make her way over from behind the counter.

"Don't," Drake said, his hunger getting the best of him. "I'm sorry, okay? Jesus."

Unfortunately, he handed over the half-eaten plate and thanked her. When she was gone, he said, "Maybe if you show me some fucking manners, I'll buy you a slice of pie."

Drake didn't want dessert. He wanted actual food. He wanted those chicken fingers. But he supposed it was better than nothing. Tad could tell by his expression that he was willing to play along.

"Tell me about what happened to you after you dropped out of school."

He decided to skip the whole Meelah thing. "I moved in with my dad."

"I bet he wasn't happy with your decision when you were so close to the end of high school."

"No, sir." His eyes followed the burger as the coach lifted it and took a bite.

The man spoke with his mouth full. "And then what happened? Why aren't you staying with him now?"

"We got into a fight." Drake's stomached growled, filling him with embarrassment. He clutched it as if that would silence it. Just then, he felt a sharp, gnawing pain in the pit of his belly. _Jesus, not here. Not now._

"What was it about?"

"Gmm... We just hate each other." Drake tightly grabbed the edge of the table, then curled his toes as far as they would go. "Mmm..." He exhaled through his teeth.

Tad saw a single teardrop slip down the young man's cheek, but Drake was quick to wipe it away. "Tell me what happened," he persisted.

"Why do you give a shit?"

"Is that what you consider manners?" he reminded.

"He fucking tried to drown me, okay? Fuck." He leaned against the window and pulled his knees up to his chest. He then hid his face inside because he felt paranoid that everyone in the restaurant was watching him.

"What is happening?"

"My fucking stomach." His voice was strained. "Jesus Christ." He grabbed his hair in a fist with one hand. Feeling pain in another part of his body strangely helped to relieve some of the pressure in his abdomen. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered.

"Do I need to call an ambulance?" He was confused as to what exactly was going on.

"Mm-mm." He shook his head.

"What?"

"Fuck." Drake lifted his head and spoke with irritation. "No." His stomach growled again.

It was then that Tad pieced together that the young man was having severe hunger pangs. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Mmm..." It was too much math for his brain to comprehend at the moment, but he answered because he wanted that pie. "Almost two weeks ago."

"Jesus Christ!" he whispered.

"Can you help me out?" Drake asked, his voice showing his desperation.

The gym coach thought it over for a moment, wondering how he could take advantage of the situation and get the most out of Drake's misfortune. "Alright, new deal. I changed my mind. I actually will take that handjob."

"Fuck off," Drake said, hiding his head between his knees again.

"I'll buy you another meal - not just the pie. I'll get you another chicken finger basket. And I'll give you ten bucks that you can spend wherever you want."

Drake was disgusted with himself that he was actually considering it. But he'd already blown the guy. And vice versa. _Is it really such a big deal anymore?_ Clearly, his body wasn't his own. Not according to his father, who sexually assaulted him just about every day, and certainly not according to the man sitting across from him. He'd been touched and penetrated so many times without giving his consent that it was almost normal to him now.

"Twenty bucks," Drake said.

Tad wouldn't budge. "Ten."

"Fifteen."

"Ten."

Drake sighed. "Shit. Fine." He stood with the intent on leading the man into the bathroom.

* * *

Drake didn't feel too great about what he had done earlier. However, the hunger pangs along with the promise of finally being reconnected with Charlie had pulled him through it. It wasn't so bad. At least he didn't have to suck him off. It was like being back in gym class, except he just went a little bit further than the norm this time.

The pains in the pit of his stomach hadn't completely subsided; they just happened less frequently and didn't stay nearly as long as they had before. After Drake had scarfed down his meal and dessert, he'd almost immediately puked everything up in the bathroom because it had been so long since he'd eaten. Coach Tad had proceeded to write his number down on a napkin for Drake, and he'd encouraged the young man to call if he ever needed anything while giving him a mischievous wink before he departed.

Drake had left right after. He could feel pressure from the manager, who had been staring at him from behind the counter. He didn't mind. He'd needed to make a Charlie run anyway.

So now here he was in his usual spot doing his usual thing of getting high on Charlie. Even the cough medicine didn't warm him up. No wonder so many homeless people were alcoholics. It's fucking freezing! What else did they have to keep themselves warm?

Unfortunately, his Triple C's didn't hit hard, so he couldn't get away by hallucinating Meelah's presence. He couldn't even take out his phone and look at pictures of her or send her text messages like usual because his phone had been dead for over a week now. He was completely cut off from the world. On his daily walks around the city, he would pass through Kenzly's neighborhood to check if she'd returned home, but still she was staying with Mindy at his mother's house. Maybe he could go back there, too.

He immediately shook that thought from his head. No fucking way could he return home. Not while he looked like this. He was a fucking skeleton, and he hadn't had a shower in forever. He still wore the Green Day shirt and thin red and black plaid button-up collared shirt that Rhinestone had let him borrow. Both were raggedy and wrinkly and covered in dirt and grass stains. His jeans had small holes in them, revealing his filthy skin in places. The bottom of his bare feet were calloused and black, and there were cuts all over them that constantly gave him trouble.

"Aaachoo!" Drake sniffled, then coughed. He covered his mouth with his hand as he turned on his side and pulled his knees up to his chest in order to make himself as small as possible in hopes that the wind would miss him. When he stopped coughing, he sniffled again, and the crimson color on his skin gained his attention. Jesus, he'd coughed up blood. "Shit."

What was happening? Was this okay? Was it because of the Triple C's? Surely, it wasn't. Maybe there had been glass or something in the food he had eaten somehow. Or maybe it was just because he was always coughing. Ever since the first night he'd slept in the park, he'd been sick. As it got closer and closer to Christmas, the temperature only grew colder. He swore that the temperature dropped by at least five degrees every night. He had originally thought that he'd get used to it, but it only seemed to get worse.

More blood splattered from his lips again as he erupted into a coughing fit. He clutched his aching stomach and winced at the pain in his chest.

* * *

Drake had felt too weak to go on his daily walk to the diner and steal tip money to buy Charlie with. Instead, he'd laid in his usual spot all day, dozing in and out of uncomfortable sleep. Everything ached. He was tired of sleeping on this hard ground. He was tired of being cold. He was tired of being thirsty. He was tired of being hungry. He was tired of being tired. He felt miserable, and he was grateful when he was able to slip into a restless slumber and escape his troubles for a while. Unfortunately, a drop of water fell onto his cheek, then another, then another. Drake squeezed his eyes closed tighter as he awoke when another raindrop landed on his eyelashes. He wiped it away and could feel as the drops became more frequent.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, looking around himself. _What time is it?_ By the look of the night sky above him, he would've guessed that it was maybe ten o'clock at night.

He shivered as the rain fell more rapidly. It was as if, all of a sudden, the bottom had fallen out. His ears were filled with the loud sound of trillions of droplets colliding with the ground around him. He pushed himself into a sitting position, groaning again, his sore body screaming. He clutched his chest, which gave him a sharp pain with his movement and made it hard for him to breathe. He clenched his teeth together and forced himself onto his feet, staggering a good bit. His knees buckled under him. _Why is it so hard to walk?_ Drake took a step forwards, then another, before his legs gave out. He dropped onto his knees, then immediately leaned forwards and wretched at the feeling of nausea sliding up his throat. However, nothing left his lips, for there was nothing inside of his stomach. Drake coughed, then spat out the bloodied saliva that he did manage to summon up.

The young man put the back of his hand over his mouth, then hefted himself onto his feet. For a moment, he just stood there, absolutely at a loss about what to do. He had to find somewhere to go. He had to get a roof over his head. Maybe it was time to break down and beg Ricardo for forgiveness and kiss his ass and tell him he had been right all along.

 _Mmm...maybe not._ As Drake stumbled across the grass, he found the playground. He climbed up the few tiny steps with a great deal of exhaustion and walked across a wobbly rope bridge. His hands shook wildly as he tightly gripped the rope to hold his unsteady self up. He climbed up a nearby ladder, so tired that he let go of a sob. Drake pulled himself through a small, child-sized hole with ease, and once he was on the second level of the playground, he crawled over to the tunnel and curled up inside of it, finally protected from the storm.

* * *

Drake's entire body trembled as if he was a heroin addict going through withdrawals. He even had snot dripping from his nose, which was sore from all the times he'd wiped it away before giving up on it. He squeezed his torso tightly as an attempt at giving himself some sort of warmth. His clothes and hair were soaked and dripping, for the freezing gusts of wind rendered his shelter useless. The ice cold drops of water felt like pins and needles stabbing through his skin. There were tiny puddles of blood and saliva nearby from the times that Drake would cough or dry-heave. He hadn't slept a wink. Instead, he spent the entire night crying and praying for the sun. It never came.

* * *

 _(2 days later)_

The rain had ceased off and on for a while, giving Drake time to relieve his bladder in the bushes. It had been muddy outside, but Drake had preferred the hard ground. It was much better than the cramped, curved, plastic tunnel. Unfortunately, the storm had started back up about three hours ago, and it was still going strong, so Drake was back inside of the tunnel. He hadn't slept in probably three days. Or more. He wasn't sure. He'd lost count. He hadn't eaten in that long as well, so his hunger pangs were back, and they were kicking his ass. The only water he got was when he lifted his chin and caught the raindrops in his mouth.

He couldn't take this anymore. He just couldn't. It was fucking sleeting outside, and when Drake pulled himself out of the tunnel, his shaking grew even worse and more violent than ever before. The walk to his father's house was hell. He was so weak and sore and exhausted that he could hardly make it, but the thought of a warm bed and a nice meal and a hot shower pulled him through. He'd have to endure a beating first, of course, and that was only if Martin took him back. Drake knew he had dug himself into quite a deep hole when he'd challenged the man before storming out all high and mighty as if he was the shit. All he could do would be to beg for his father's forgiveness, and at this point in his life, that was no longer beneath him. How could he possibly get anymore lower than he already was?

* * *

Martin opened his eyes as the sound of knocking woke him. He'd been hearing it in his sleep for the past five minutes now, but it hadn't registered that it wasn't just in his dreams until now. He looked at the digital clock on his nightstand and found that it was a little before four a.m. Who the hell would possibly be at his door at this time of night? He started to grab some pants and a shirt, but the knocks became louder and more urgent. Martin exited his room, made his way down the hallway, and passed by the living room. He pulled open the door and was shocked at the sight before him.

His only son stood just a couple feet from him. The boy was a lot skinnier than he had been before he left - sickeningly so - and his eyes and cheeks were sunken into his face. He was covered in dirt and mud and snot. He had dark circles all around his bloodshot eyes and unattractive bags under each one. His hair was greasy, his clothes were filthy, and he was barefoot. Just watching him shake was disconcerting and off-putting, and the sound of his teeth rapidly chattering together filled the man's ears.

Drake was sobbing when he spoke, and his voice cracked. "Dad?"

Martin couldn't remember ever seeing his son so vulnerable. Sure, he'd broken the boy before, but this felt different. Something had changed about Drake.

"Please, let me come home," he begged, pleading with his tear-filled eyes.

Martin opened the door wider, allowing the young man to step inside. Drake was immediately hit with warmth, and the sudden change in temperature made him shiver. He wrapped his wiry arms around himself.

"Wait right here," the man commanded, and his son obeyed. He soon returned with a towel and handed it to the boy.

"Thanks." Drake dried himself off as best as he could. He pathetically mumbled sincere apologies about his actions before he'd left, and he admitted that Martin was right about him overreacting.

"Have you been living on the streets this whole time?"

Drake's voice squeaked when he said, "Yeah," and just being reminded of the last two horrible weeks caused fresh tears to stream down his cheeks.

"Jesus!" His father seemed genuinely concerned. "It's fucking freezing out there!"

Drake went back to apologizing as Mr. Parker led him over to the dining room table and motioned for him to sit down. He was visibly relieved to be able to rest his poor legs.

"Aachooo! Aaachooo! Aachooo! Aaachooo!" Drake sniffled, then groaned, which irritated his throat and provoked a couple coughs from him. His chest ached, and his shoulder blades screamed in pain at his jerky movements.

When he pulled his hands away from his lips, Martin caught a glimpse of red blood on his palm. "Jesus!" The man grabbed his wrist before he could hide it and looked to see how much was there. "How long have you been coughing up blood?"

"A few days."

"A few days?!" Martin pushed Drake's oily bangs back and felt his forehead. "Fucking hell, you're burning up."

"I just wanna go to sleep." Although he said it as a statement, he was asking for permission.

"I don't think so, Drake. You need to go to the fucking hospital."

"But I'm so tired."

"If you close your eyes, I'm not sure you're gonna wake up. You look like hell."

"It'll be okay," Drake whispered.

Martin shook his head. "Nah, we're gonna have you checked out. Go on in the bathroom and take a quick shower. I'll grab a change of clothes out of the basement."

Drake wanted to protest, but he didn't dare. Not when he'd just been allowed back.

* * *

Martin watched as Drake bent over to pick up his shirt, stretching the skin on his sides over his ribs like some sort of elastic suit. After the boy slipped the long-sleeved shirt over his head, he ran a brush through his hair.

"I found an old pair of sneakers in my closet." The man held them out.

Drake thanked him, then sat on the toilet and pulled on a pair of socks. Next, he slipped the shoes onto his feet. His toes already felt ten times warmer.

Martin picked up Drake's old, wet clothes and went down to the basement where the washer and dryer machines were. Drake followed like a lost puppy to avoid being alone. Before the man tossed them in to wash, he checked the pockets just to be sure there wasn't anything inside that could mess up the machines. Only coming up with a small napkin, he tossed the clothes inside and turned the washing machine on. He was going to trash the napkin until he saw that it had writing on it.

"Who's number is this?"

Drake didn't want to risk lying and getting caught and losing the kindness that his father was giving to him. "My old gym coach. I ran into him at a diner. He said to call if I needed anything."

"You mean the one that molested you?"

Drake cringed at the word. That was basically what had happened, but he never ever used that word when thinking about it. He felt so pathetic when he realized that that was the proper term for it. Drake Parker has been molested.

"He helped me out," Drake said so that maybe his father wouldn't be so angry.

"And what did you do for him?"

Drake lowered his eyes with shame. There was no use denying it, but he couldn't get himself to admit it out loud.

"I can't believe you were out there whoring yourself out. To him, of all people! What are you, a fucking prostitute?"

Drake shrugged and spoke in a whisper, but he still had his eyes low. "I was just hungry."

Martin sighed. He knew that Drake had thought that it had been his only option, but why the hell had he waited so long before coming back home? Why would he let things get this bad? If Martin would've known that he wouldn't wind up on some friend's couch, the man wouldn't have told him to leave.

"I swear, if I ever see that fucking coach, I'm gonna kill him."

Even though it was hypocritical for him to say, Drake appreciated that he cared.

* * *

Martin's face was pouring with sweat, but he kept the heater on as high as it could go because Drake seemed to be enjoying it. The boy was still trembling quite a bit; it was going to take a while to defrost fully. Currently, Drake was leaned over in his seat with his face hidden between his knees and his arms hugging his own torso. Martin had thought this this was some sort of maneuver to warm himself, but he changed his mind when he heard a muffled squeak leave his son's lips.

"Are you okay?"

Drake nodded, never lifting his head. "Mm-hm."

However, the way his toes were clenched and his fingers were gripping and wrinkling the side of his sweater tight enough to cause his knuckles to turn white told him otherwise. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and rubbed for a short moment, then he pulled him into a sitting position so that he could see his face, which was contorted as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"What's wrong?" the man asked.

"My stomach hurts really bad. Mmm," he groaned as a sharp pain hit him.

"Did you eat when you were gone?"

"Not really."

And now Martin understood why the boy had been willing to give his old gym coach sexual satisfaction.

"I'll stop by a McDonald's."

Although he was having hunger pangs again, Drake didn't feel hungry at all, and he didn't think he could get himself to eat. However, he would if it meant that all of this would stop.

Drake puckered his lips and clenched his teeth together, then blew air out and sucked it back in. He shifted in his seat. He rocked back and forth. However, nothing was easing the pain. The young man couldn't hold back his sob.

By the time they reached the fast-food restaurant, the worst of his stomach ache was gone, but he knew it would be back soon. It always came back.

"What do you want?" the man asked.

"Anything's okay," the boy answered.

Martin ordered him a Big Mac meal, and Drake scarfed it down so fast that his dad had to pull over so that he could vomit. When the boy was done, he weakly pulled himself inside of the pick-up truck and wiped his mouth off.

"Here's a napkin." Martin pulled one out of the paper sack and passed it to the boy. He put the vehicle in drive and gently pressed on the gas after checking his mirrors to see if it was okay to get back on the main road. "Where have you been staying?"

"I stayed with Rhinestone and Kenzly one night. And then I slept in the park the rest."

"Jesus, you were right outside the neighborhood this whole time? You could've come home sooner."

"I was scared," Drake admitted. "I thought you would kill me if I showed my face there again."

Martin couldn't blame him. After Drake had completely disrespected him by spitting on him, he swore he would kill him. Luckily, although shaking with rage, he'd managed to kick the boy out instead, but he often wondered where the two would be now had his son not left that day. For sure, he would've murdered him. His fury had been uncontrollable when that had happened. He hadn't told Drake yet, but he'd trashed all of his belongings. That's why the young man was wearing one of Martin's outfits, and it was super baggy on him.

"You never have to stay gone that long. Just give me a day or two to calm down."

"Well, shit. I wish I would've known that sooner." Drake coughed, and more blood landed on his wrist when he covered his mouth.

Martin glanced at him. "Have you used anything this week?"

"Just Triple C's."

"Are you lying to me?"

"No, I swear. And I haven't even used that in a couple days," said Drake. "Since it started storming."

"Have you been able to get cigarettes? I've heard that menthols contain little pieces of fiberglass in them that can make you start coughing up blood over some period of time."

"No, I haven't had any money." A cigarette sounded so nice right now, though.

"Have you been paying for those pills then?"

"Yeah."

"So you had money for drugs, but not for food."

"Priorities," Drake said sarcastically. But on a more serious note, he spoke with a meek voice, scared of his father's reaction. "You're the same way."

Martin said no more on the subject. In fact, he didn't say anything for the remainder of the drive. After they found a parking spot outside of the ER, Martin turned off his truck and made his way towards the entrance of the building. It was a semi-long walk, and when he looked over his shoulder, he found that his son was trailing behind quite a bit. He stopped and waited for him to catch up, then slowed his pace to match Drake's.

"I feel so weak," the boy explained.

"Maybe it's nothing serious," Martin assured. "They probably have something to make you feel better."

"Are you gonna..." the young man started. "Are you gonna tell Mom?"

"I think we both know it's best not to add to her stress right now." To lighten the mood, he morbidly joked, "But I might have to say something if you die."

Drake couldn't help but crack a grin, but it was gone in a flash. He hated that, instead of enjoying the moment, he pondered how long this Martin would be here before the asshole Martin inevitably returned.


	8. The Visitor

_(3 days later)_

"How you feeling?" Martin asked, unashamed about the half-empty can of beer that was held between his thighs as he pressed on the gas peddle.

The man hadn't really visited the hospital. When Drake had been admitted and placed in one of the rooms, Martin had stayed for about an hour. It was longer than Drake had expected. Usually, his dad couldn't be bothered to do anything for the boy. The isolation wasn't so bad, though. Drake had finally been able to catch up on a lot of much-needed sleep.

"Not great," Drake answered honestly.

They'd told him he'd had a pretty bad case of pneumonia, along with severe undernourishment and dehydration.

"Honestly, I can't believe they released you so early. I was sure you were gonna die," he joked.

"I think it was something about me not having health insurance and the fact that I don't look like I would be paying the bill any time soon." Drake eyed the open thirty-pack of Bud Light on the floorboard. "Can I have one?"

"Are you sure you should be drinking with the medication they have you on?"

"It'll be fine," he said, although he wasn't sure. When the man shrugged, he reached down and grabbed one of the cans, then popped it open and took a long swallow. It felt good to have some sort of mind-altering substance inside of him. He'd been sober for way too long.

Martin finished off the beer he had in his lap, had a quick look around, then tossed the can out the window. "Hand me another one of those."

Drake did.

"But for real, though," Martin said. "I think it's time we had that talk about you selling drugs. And you taking all that money from your mother and Mindy and Josh."

Drake took a long gulp so that he wouldn't have to answer right away. After he finished that beer, he grabbed another. "I might have gotten myself into a bit of a mess."

"Do I need to stop by the gas station next to the house? Are you gonna drink all my beer?"

"Can I get drunk with you today?"

"Yeah, I guess. So what kinda trouble are you in?"

"I owe this guy _a lot_ of money. Meelah and I borrowed it so that we could move to New York together and have a good supply of emergency cash until we got settled in and got on our feet."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand," Drake hesitantly admitted.

"Ten fucking grand?!"

Drake winced at his monstrous voice.

"Holy fucking shit! God damn! What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking that everything was gonna get better," he replied sheepishly, and his answer silenced Martin. "But we never made it to New York. And I blew some of the money on drugs and things I don't remember buying. And then I wrecked the car, and Josh kept bitching about it, so I gave him the rest of the money when I was high."

 ***FLASHBACK***

As Drake sat on the curb, he looked past Walter, who was yelling at him at the top of his lungs. Several feet behind him, Audrey stood staring at the trashed vehicle. She was a nervous wreck. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she was shaking. Josh walked up to her and pulled her into a comforting embrace. Since they were so far away and his step-dad was screaming so loudly, he couldn't hear what his brother was saying. Drake thought that everyone was overreacting, and he wasn't comprehending the seriousness of the situation. Maybe it was because of the four Xanax bars he'd swallowed before leaving the house.

"-ABSOLUTELY IRRESPONSIBLE! YOU COULD'VE KILLED SOMEONE, AND THEN YOU'D HAVE TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE IN PRISON! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!" Walter grabbed his chin roughly.

Drake shoved his hand away. "Don't fucking touch me." He wiped the hair out of his eyes, and when he pulled his hand back, he found that there was a substantial amount of blood on it. Surprised, Drake wiped at his forehead, and sure enough, there was a lot more of the sticky, red liquid.

Enraged that the young man was too fucked up to grasp what was going on around him, Walter grabbed his wrist, then yanked him to his feet. "Get in the car!"

Drake tried to pull away, but he wasn't nearly as strong. "Let me fucking go!"

This attracted attention from Audrey and Josh.

"Walter..." the woman pleaded.

The man snatched the passenger's side door open, then furiously tossed Drake inside.

"Fucking prick!" Drake kicked the door so that he couldn't close him inside.

Walter was pissed that Drake had ruined one car and was already trying to ruin another, and it was hard for him to control his anger. He roughly grabbed the boy and tried to force him to remain inside.

"Fuck off!" Drake fought, having flashbacks to a time when he had lived with his biological father.

"Walter!" Audrey came closer. "Stop it!"

His wife just wanted to allow Drake to continue doing the things he did. She never wanted to punish him for his actions, and Walter believed that she played a big part as to why he seemed to be getting worse instead of better. They weren't on the same page when it came to disciplinary measures, and since, technically, Drake was _her_ child and not _his_ , ultimately, it was her decision. He stepped back, and so that he could get out of the car, Drake shoved him away even further.

"Fine! You know what?! Do whatever you want! I'm just trying to protect you!"

"Fuck you!" Drake spat, and he started to stomp back towards the wrecked car.

Audrey caught up to him and grabbed his biceps. "Drake, sweetie, listen to me."

"I already said I was fucking sorry, Mom." He shook her away, but she blocked his path.

"Please, just get in the car." She could smell alcohol on his breath. He'd just left the house. _Is he hiding alcohol in his room somewhere?_ On top of that, since he'd admitted to the possibility that he may have fallen asleep at the wheel, she knew that he had taken some sort of pills.

"I don't know what's going on, Mom." And suddenly, it was as if the Xanax was no longer a match for the anxiety and confusion inside of him, for tears started to drip from his eyes as well.

Everyone was yelling at him. Everyone was telling him what to do. Everyone was grabbing him. And he was too drunk and high to understand.

"Honey, I just want you to get in my car. I'm gonna drive you home, and Walter's going to stay here with your brother. They're gonna say that Josh was driving and swerved out of the way to miss a deer, but he hit the telephone pole."

"What is happening?"

Audrey wiped away one of his tears with her thumb. "If you don't leave with me right now, they will arrest you, and you'll go to jail for driving under the influence."

Drake looked over at Walter and Josh. Both were livid, yet they still didn't want Drake to face any legal trouble.

"Okay," the boy said.

He followed her to her car and got into the passenger's seat. Audrey gave Walter a kiss and said a few words to Josh that Drake couldn't hear before getting behind the wheel. After cranking the vehicle and turning around in the grass, she grabbed her son's hand and forced a smile through her tears. "Everything's going to be okay."

"I'm so sorry," Drake begged as he cried.

"What were you thinking?" she asked kindly, expressing that she wanted to understand.

However, he had no idea what his plan had been. He couldn't remember where he was going. He couldn't remember the crash. He couldn't even remember leaving the house. "I'm so sorry," he said again. "Please, don't tell Dad."

"Let's just go home and get you cleaned up and sobered up, okay?"

When they reached their destination, Drake followed his mother inside. Audrey told him to sit on the stool in the kitchen while she grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom. He did. The young man sniffled and rested his forehead on his palm as he sobbed. He was shaking, and he could really use more Xanax and more alcohol to calm down. He wasn't fully comprehending what was happening, but the way everyone else was freaking out unsettled him and made him mimic their feelings. He noticed as a long string of blood reached all the way from his lip to the table. There was blood fucking everywhere: his hands, his shirt, his nose, his forehead, his mouth. Yet, he didn't feel a thing.

Drake heard frantic footsteps coming back downstairs. However, it wasn't his mother.

"Drake?" Megan took a seat next to him, then placed a hand on his shoulder unsurely.

"I'm sorry," he said as a few more sobs came out.

But she didn't care about the car. She cared about her older brother.

"What happened?" she questioned, rubbing circles on his shoulder blade.

"I can't remember," he choked, and that statement upset him even more.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

"So now he's making you sell drugs for him?"

"It's not anything big like heroin or meth. It's just ecstasy. And I just sell it at his club. It's a safe environment. It's not like I'm pushing on the streets. I'm not gonna get caught there. The security that works there knows what he has me doing there."

"This is some really fucked up shit, Drake," Martin said, his voice expressing concern.

"The second I pay him off, I'm gonna quit. I swear."

"So the money you've been paying me with every weekend is your drug money?"

"Don't act like you're above that," the boy said. How many beers had he drank already? When did he get so brave? He wasn't even feeling a buzz, though. "I mean, but he stopped giving me any money and started putting it all towards what I owe him, so I won't be able to give you anything anymore."

Martin was still too flabbergasted about the fact that his son was selling drugs to care. "You do know that if you get caught, you'll get a felony _per_ pill, right? This is serious shit."

"I don't know what else to do. They said they would kill me. They..." He swallowed, for he knew his next words would enrage the man. "They threatened Mom and Megan and Josh and Walter."

"Shit, Drake. What have you done?" Martin opened another beer as he turned into the driveway and came to a stop. "I swear to God, if something happens to my daughter...or your mother-"

"I'm not gonna let anything happen. I'm gonna pay them back. I'm gonna find a way to get him his money faster. I can get a job."

"Who the fuck do you think is gonna hire you? Anyone could tell that you're a junkie from a mile away."

Drake was feeling anxious because his father was basically telling him it was hopeless. "I've gotta try something! I could call Coach Tad up, but he only gives me ten dollars for a hand job!" Although it was meant to be sarcastic, he was suddenly embarrassed that he'd said it, and he could feel the man looking at him with shock and disgust. "Never mind. I'll figure it out on my own." Drake pulled the handle and slid out of the truck. He slammed the door, then made his way inside.

* * *

Since Drake had been in the hospital, he'd once again missed the days that he was supposed to work at the Oxygen. He'd messaged Marcellas as soon as he'd been able to charge his phone, and the man had insinuated that things would be bad for him if he didn't show up the following weekend with five hundred dollars compensation. He had five days to come up with five hundred dollars. What the hell was he going to do? There's no way he could possibly get a job and receive his first paycheck in time. Christmas was in a few days, but he didn't even talk to anyone. Who could he expect to give him money? Especially such a substantial amount? _What amount Mindy? Would she help me out? I am a fucking leech. I just suck people dry. Maybe I should just let them kill me._ However, Drake didn't think they would do it so fast. They'd probably give him torturous warnings, like cutting off his toes.

The young man was pulled out of his thoughts when his bedroom door opened. It was his father.

"Hey," the man said.

"Hey," Drake replied quietly as he pulled the tab up on his next beer and turned it over his lips.

"I guess you've noticed all you shit is gone."

Drake looked around although he _had_ already noticed. "Yeah." He set his beer down and starting biting his thumbnail.

During the man's rage when Drake had left, Martin had completely destroyed every last one of the boy's belongings: his DVDs, his CDs, his clothes. The boy literally had nothing left, and at this point, he was just too tired to get mad about it.

Martin furrowed his brow when he heard a Miley Cyrus song playing from his son's phone.

Drake noticed his teasing smile. "Don't judge me."

His father shook his head, then leaned against the dresser and sighed. "Are we still getting drunk or what?"

"Oh, have we not already started that?" Drake spat the loose bit of his fingernail out of his mouth, then picked up his beer when he was reminded that it was there.

"I mean, I've been drinking, and clearly, you've been drinking, but I thought we were gonna drink together."

"Yeah, okay." Drake stood. "Let me just change into some PJs." He opened his drawer and saw that it was empty. He'd forgotten already. "Oh, yeah. Well, shit."

"You can borrow some of mine. I'll grab them."

"Thanks."

When Martin left the room, Drake looked around. He really did have nothing left. Finally he was back home, and still, he was having to borrow clothes from other people and wear them over and over again.

When the young man glanced at the half-empty DVD shelf to see if maybe his father had left at least one by accident, one particular movie case caught his eye. He got onto his knees and pulled it out. It had been one of Megan's old Bratz doll cartoons. She'd taken the movie with her on a family vacation once and didn't realize that she never put the disc back into the case. Drake had used it for one of his own movies that had no case, but he couldn't remember which one. He popped it open, and sitting on top of a disc was a small Ziploc bag full of marijuana.

"Holy shit!" Drake said with excitement.

He had no recollection of how it had gotten here, but this wasn't the first time that he had found drugs in strange places. It fact, it was pretty common for him to find things that he'd lost while high when he was high. In this case, he was pretty drunk, and that was close enough. He picked up the bag and saw that the disc inside was Fight Club.

"Here. These are too small for me now anyway," Martin said as he returned. "What is that?"

Drake turned to face him with a giant grin on his face. "You know what's even more fun than alcohol?" He held up the plastic bag that had marijuana inside and grinned.

* * *

Martin had been taken aback when Drake had showed him the pot he'd found in his room. The boy was _definitely_ drunk. Martin had been even more surprised when he heard the word _yes_ come out of his own mouth. He wasn't sure why he'd said it. Maybe it was because he did sometimes enjoy having fun with Drake when they were drunk, and surely, this would be even better.

The young man ripped the tab off of one of his many empty beer cans and bent it until it broke in half, then turned the can onto its side and dented it in the middle.

"What are you doing?" Martin asked.

"Making a pipe." Drake hated smoking out of cans; it made him feel trashy. However, he couldn't be bothered to walk all the way to Ahmed's gas station and spend forever trying to master the art of rolling a blunt. He _was_ sick with pneumonia after all. He'd just rather be sick and high than just sick.

Martin watched as he straightened up his edges to make a sort of bowl, then he picked up one half of the tab and used a sharp part to poke holes in the middle of it. The man could see that Drake's hand was slightly shaky, and he assumed that it was some sort of symptom of the pneumonia.

"Are you gonna get me in trouble for this later?" the boy asked.

The man shook his head. "I guess pot isn't as big of a deal as other things. I'd rather you be a stoner than a pill-popper. It's a lot less dangerous."

"Yeah, well, it is what it is." He flashed a smile. Drake poked one last larger hole in the side for the carb, then he set the can onto the coffee table in front of him and picked up his bag of weed. He pulled some out between his pointer finger and thumb, then went back for more.

"You want me to go ahead and start the movie?" Martin asked when the commercials were over and the main menu popped up.

"Nah, I wanna be high when I watch it." He picked up the light and put the drinking end of the can to his lips. He held his thumb over the carb and and the flame over the marijuana. Drake inhaled to fill the can with smoke, then he let go of the carb and took in a deep breath to fill his lungs.

He could immediately feel that familiar burn in his throat, and his mouth felt dry. It had been so long since he'd smoked. Weed never made the cut when he was deciding how to spend his money. He'd missed everything about it: the taste, the smell. After one more hit, he passed it to his father, who mimicked the way Drake had held it and put the flame over the bowl. After he breathed in the smoke, he immediately started coughing so much that he was sure he would die.

Drake stood and walked into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed two more beers, then took his seat next to his father on the couch again. He set one on the table in front of the man, who had managed to cease his coughing fit, then he opened one and took a long swallow.

"You know, I haven't smoked since your mom and I got together. She always hated it."

"Jesus, that's forever ago." Drake took the "pipe" from him, then lit up again.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, they were both completely gone. They were non-stop laughing and struggling to breathe in between. Neither could remember what the joke had been or even which one of the two had made it. However, they couldn't get themselves to stop, and they didn't really want to anyway.

* * *

After about two hours, they finally remembered to start the movie. Exhausted from the weed, alcohol, and sickness, Drake had fallen asleep within the first ten minutes. Martin glanced over at the boy, who was curled up on the couch cushion next to him. He grabbed the remote controller and turned down the volume, then stood and picked up the blanket that was on the back of the recliner and placed it over his son.

* * *

Drake felt himself waking, but he wasn't ready to open his eyes. His body ached. He wasn't sure how much was caused by the uncomfortable couch and how much was caused by the pneumonia. He groaned, and when he stretched out his limbs, he felt a wave of nausea hit him. He immediately pushed himself into a sitting position, and luckily, there was a trash can in front of him. There was already vomit in it. He didn't remember puking last night, but honestly, he really couldn't recall anything from last night. When he finished hurling his guts out, he spat out what was left in his mouth, then wiped his lips off with the back of his hand. He had a migraine. He rested his elbow on his knee and held his forehead up by the palm of his hand. He was burning up.

 _Where the hell did I put my meds?_ Drake lifted his head, and his eyes were immediately attracted to the table in front of him. It was covered with empty beer cans and chips and popcorn. Upon the mess was his make-shift weed pipe. He reached for it to see if there was any marijuana left inside. _Oh, here they are._

"Mm-mm."

Drake's head shot up when he heard the sound of someone's throat clearing. "Shit!" he whispered, yanking his hand away from the drugs as if his surprise visitor didn't already know what he'd planned on doing. "Jesus, Mom! What are you doing here?!"

"I could ask you the same thing." Her eyes pointed towards the table, and she examined every object on it.

"I was just..." But Drake was at a loss for words.

Just then, the front door opened and Martin walked in with a couple grocery bags in his hands. His eyes went wide when he saw his ex wife. "Uh, Audrey..." He met Drake's eyes, which were filled with panic. "Drake? W-what are you doing here?"

The young man looked at him with confusion, but Martin just shrugged and silently urged him to play along.

"I was just asking him the same question," Audrey said. "You didn't know he was here?"

"No, I was out all night." Quieter, he said, "I had a date." Although they hadn't been together in years and Audrey was already happily remarried, it didn't feel right telling her that he was seeing someone else.

When Drake saw that she believed him, he said, "I just needed a place to crash."

"It looks like you needed a place to get high," Martin said.

 _Don't fucking push it_ , Drake thought. However, he knew that, for Audrey to believe the story they were selling her, Martin would always side with Audrey, and Audrey wasn't thrilled about the site before her.

"I just..." he stammered again.

Audrey smiled through watery eyes and took a seat next to him on the couch. "It's good to see you, nevertheless." She wrapped her arms around him, feeling his ribs poking out of his torso as she did so. "I've missed you so much." Her voice cracked.

Drake's heart was still beating rapidly from the initial shock of her being there and he was sure that she could feel it pounding out of his chest, but he started to feel a tad calmer knowing that she wasn't here to yell at him or try to send him away. He returned the hug with his eyes closed, marveling in the way it felt to be able to embrace her again. "I've missed you, too."

Audrey pulled back and placed her hand on his cheek. "Goodness, you're burning up!"

"It's nothing." Drake shook his head and kept his eyes low with shame as she examined him. "I'm just feeling a little under the weather."

"You look like you're starving. When's the last time you've eaten?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Martin. "Do you think you could make him some breakfast?"

"No, you don't have to-" Drake shook his head, but she shushed him before he could finish.

"Nonsense. You father doesn't mind. Right, Martin?" She looked at him.

He shook his head. "Uh, no," the man said. "Not at all." He took the grocery bags into the kitchen.

"I really think I should go," Drake said.

"Are you kidding? I haven't seen you in weeks. And you won't answer my phone calls."

He stood anyway. He'd been living on the streets for two weeks with little to eat. He knew how he looked, and he couldn't stand that his mother saw him at such a low point in his life. "I'm sorry." He shrugged apologetically, then walked out the front door.

Martin looked up then. "Drake?" he called, then looked at Audrey for an explanation.

She shook her head as tears poured out of her eyes. She said nothing because she knew that she would start sobbing if she tried.

Martin sat down next to her on the couch and pulled her into a hug. He rubbed circles into her back. He was actually thankful that Drake had left because now he was given time alone with her. "Don't worry about Drake. He's a resilient kid. He can make it through anything. He can beat this."

"You keep saying that," Audrey choked, "yet things just keep getting worse and worse."

* * *

Drake didn't go too far. He decided to wait at the park for a while. Surely, Audrey wouldn't stay too long. Usually, the divorced couple couldn't stand each other, but Drake's sensitive situation brought them together and kept them civil with one another.

The young man was going to sit on the swings of the abandoned playground, but he decided better of it because it was so visible from the street, and he didn't want his mother to spot him as she drove home. Instead, he went to his and Meelah's spot and rested his back against a tree that he had carved their names into several months ago. He slipped his fingers inside one of the pockets on his father's gray sweatpants and pulled out his cell phone.

 _ **Mindy Crenshaw added 4 new photos.**_

Back during the summer that they had spent together, Mindy had gone on his phone and set it up so that he got alerts whenever she posted something to her Facebook account. He'd never changed his alert settings because he liked knowing what was going on in her life. He typed in his phone password - something easy to remember so that he could still unlock it when he was fucked up - and then opened his Facebook and clicked on the notification. They were all photos of Mindy's most recent ultrasound. This was the first he'd seen of any baby-related pictures, and it all made everything feel more real. He couldn't for the life of himself figure out where the head or the hands were, much less attempt to decipher the baby's gender. He got this sickening, uneasy feeling in his gut, but he wasn't sure if it was regret or excitement.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake tossed his cigarette to the side, then pulled open the diner door and stepped inside. He stopped there and looked to his left and his right until he spotted Mindy sitting in one of the booths. She gave him a smile. He walked over and slid into the booth across from her.

"Hey," he said, his voice monotonous.

He'd thought that once he saw her finally for the first time in months, he'd be happy. Ever since Meelah had died, Drake had been rather lonely, and the random phone call he'd gotten from the girl seated across from him had bettered his mood for a while. However, now that he was in front of her, he didn't like what he saw. She was skinnier than she had been, and it showed a lot in her face and especially her cheeks and jaw bone. She was still beautiful. God, she would always be beautiful. But this wasn't the Mindy he had grown to love. This was hardly even Mindy at all. This was a girl who had fallen into the hands of methamphetamine.

Despite his anger, he was strangely relieved that she had moved on from Charlie, the love of his life. His jealousy was strong, and he didn't like sharing. However, at the same time, now that his sobriety kick was over and Josh was definitely out of the picture, maybe he and Mindy could reconnect like old times. Maybe she could ditch the needle for a pair of scissors and the powder for pills. He didn't mind her using Triple C's as long as she wasn't using without him. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much if he found someone to distract himself from the fact that he'd pretty much killed Meelah. Maybe he and Mindy could pick up where they left off.

"Sorry I'm late. I got caught up with-"

"It's okay. I figured you would be." _It's always excuses with him_ , she thought.

Drake saw that she didn't care for whatever story he had planned on telling her, but before he could say anything more, a waitress approached their table.

"Good afternoon. My name is Tyesha, and I'll be serving you today. What can I get you drink?"

"Do you want anything?" Drake looked at Mindy.

She shook her head. "A water's fine."

"Okay, and for you?" Tyesha met the young man's eyes.

"Uh, a coffee, please." He didn't really want it, but he figured that he should buy something.

"Alright, I'll be right back."

Drake mumbled his thanks, then awkwardly looked down at the table. He cleared his throat. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm okay. How are you? I heard about-"

Drake stopped her. He hated when people started talking about Meelah around him. "I'm okay."

She changed the subject. "Where are you staying now?"

"A friend's. What about you?" He'd heard that her father had kicked her out soon after she started using meth.

"A friend's," she said, repeating his answer like he'd done with hers earlier although neither did it intentionally.

Drake nodded, unsure of what to say next. However, he decided to be the first one to open up. He reached his arm out from under the table where he'd been nervously twiddling his thumbs and he placed his hand on top of hers. "I've missed you."

She seemed surprised by his honesty, and his action was a bit off-putting to her. Thankfully, the waitress returned, rescuing her from having to respond right away.

"Alright, here you go," the woman said in a cheery voice.

Mindy pulled her arm back, so Drake did the same. This newly-created space allowed Tyesha to set their drinks down.

"Do you want some half-and-half?"

Drake shook his head with embarrassment, for she'd seen him get rejected. "No, thanks."

"Are you ready to order, or do you need a little more time?"

Once again, Drake looked to Mindy for guidance.

"Um, actually I'm not really hungry," she said.

"I think we're just gonna hold off for a while," Drake politely declined.

"Let me know if you change your mind." And with that, she was gone.

Drake gazed at the dark brown liquid and cupped the mug in his hands to warm his palms. It was late October, and it had been a long, chilly walk. To further have reason for his silence, he lifted the glass cup and blew on it, then took a sip.

"There's actually something I needed to talk to you about," Mindy said, breaking the silence this time.

The coffee scalded his tongue, but he swallowed down the little bit that was in his mouth and said, "What's up?"

"I...um..."

Drake squinted his eyes curiously as he pondered what she could possibly have to say now after all this time and why she was so hesitant to do so.

She shook her head, then reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. Drake watched her as she tapped on the touch screen a couple of times, then she held out the phone.

"Here."

Skeptically, he took it from her, then looked at it. On the screen was a photo of a white plastic stick that had a screen on one end showing two lines.

Cluelessly, the boy asked, "Whaaat am I looking at?"

"Surprise," Mindy said awkwardly with a forced smile.

Drake looked at her, then at the picture again. His heart dropped as realization hit. "Oh, fuck," he whispered.

"There's a bun in the oven." She was avoiding saying the real words because they felt strange on her tongue. However, these didn't sound any better.

Drake placed his hand over his mouth and stressfully rubbed his fingers over the stubble of hair above his upper lip and on his chin. His eyes moved from the pregnancy test to the girl's stomach and back again.

Shakily, Mindy finally voiced, "We're pregnant." She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

"No, _we_ aren't anything," Drake snapped. " _You_ are the one who...who's..."

"Pregnant," Mindy said, her eyebrows furrowed, for the boy's reaction angered her. "You can say it. It's not a bad word."

"Jesus Christ." Drake tossed the phone onto the table, then rubbed his hand across his temple.

Mindy could see the gears spinning in his brain. She hadn't expected him to suddenly be ready to settle down and start a family, but she also hadn't expected this meeting to go as poorly as it was either.

Finally, the young man met her eyes. "You have to get an abortion."

Mindy moved her head backwards with shock. "Excuse me?!"

"Mindy, you're on meth!" Drake whispered aggressively. "You're a fucking drug addict!"

"I've been without it for four days now. I've cleaned up."

"We've all been there, Mindy."

"No, I'm serious. Josh has been helping me stay away from drugs."

"Josh knows about this?!"

"Well, yeah."

"Fuck me."

"You're being a jerk."

"Mindy, this is serious. We are in no shape to be raising a kid. I mean, let's be honest. You'll probably be back on that shit in a week's time."

The young lady scoffed. "You know what? I think we're done here." She stood.

"Mindy, wait. Don't go. I'm just trying-" As she walked by him, he tightly grabbed her wrist to stop her, but she yanked it away.

"Don't touch me!" Her loud demand earned a few nosy gazes their way. She turned and stormed out the door.

Drake stood. He quickly grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket and tossed a five dollar bill onto the table before chasing after her. When he burst through the door, he stopped and looked around until he saw her heading towards a car. He sprinted towards her and gripped her bicep, spinning her around. He was stunned when she brought her hand up and slapped him as hard as she could across his cheek. His head was turned with the force of the blow and he stumbled backwards with his jaw dropped. He gently touched his stinging skin and met her eyes again. His were filled with hurt and surprise.

"I swear I fucking hate your guts, Drake Parker! You're the most self-centered, stuck-up, egotistical-" With each insult, she shoved him backwards further and rougher than the one before.

"Mindy..." Drake stumbled and was just barely able to get his footing before he was pushed again. He couldn't stop her. He couldn't touch her. The second he did, eavesdroppers and passersby would jump on him for laying his hands on a girl.

A new voice entered the conversation. "Mindy, come on."

Drake looked past the girl and saw his brother. "Josh?" Since he was distracted, he tripped over the curb and fell against the sidewalk, scraping his elbows.

"Let's go," Josh said.

Mindy finally gave him a break. She turned and followed the boy towards the car.

"Josh, wait." Drake pushed himself up. "You have to tell her. I mean, you agree with me, right? You think I'm the most irresponsible piece of shit alive. Tell her she can't have this baby."

Josh faced him after closing the passenger's side door behind Mindy. "What are you really afraid of, Drake? Do you think you won't be able to properly raise a kid? Or are you just scared that it'll come in between you and your precious drugs?"

Drake had no rebuttal to those words. He watched helplessly as his brother got into the car and drove away, then he ran his fingers through his hair as he stood there. "Son of a bitch."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

* * *

Drake slipped through the back door of his father's house. It was a lot closer to cut across a couple streets and through some trees and hop a fence or two than it was to go all the way around to the front of the neighborhood and follow the road. It was nighttime now, so surely his mother was gone. Drake was starving and he felt like shit. For someone with pneumonia, he did way too much walking around. He didn't even feel like getting high tonight. All he wanted to do was sleep uninterrupted for the next week straight. First, he was going to make something quick for dinner. Maybe a box of the cheap macaroni and cheese that was in the cabinet. Or a hot dog. It seemed that all he ever ate were hot dogs and ramen oodles, and honestly, he couldn't even taste either one. Maybe Martin had some leftovers that he didn't mind passing on. Drake hoped that he was still in a nice mood.

He rapped his knuckles against his father's bedroom door, then pushed it open. "Dad?"

His father was laying in bed, but he wasn't alone.

"Drake!" Audrey screeched.

The young man turned and slammed the door closed. "Sorry!" he called from the other side of the door, his face a bright red color. His heart was beating out of his chest, and although he hadn't seen any body parts, he felt sick to his stomach and he couldn't erase the dim shadows of an image from his mind.

Drake pushed himself away from the door, then hurried towards the back entrance to leave the way he'd come. Before he could make it outside, his dad's bedroom door opened.

"Drake, wait." Audrey caught up to him and grabbed him arm, making him face her. She was wearing her clothes - all except her bra, which she hadn't had time to put on.

The boy kept his head hung. "I'm sorry. I should've knocked." He kept mumbling sentences similar to this one.

Audrey, too, was apologizing. "I'm so sorry you walked in on that. It was a mistake. It didn't mean anything. I was just upset. Walter and I have been having problems. I'm so ashamed." Tears fell down her cheeks.

"I just came back for my phone," Drake lied, still talking over her just as she was doing to him. "I left it here. I'll just go. Just pretend I was never here." He stepped outside. God, he couldn't get out of there fast enough.

"Drake?"

The young man paused.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this to Walter. It was just a one-time thing. I don't know what I was thinking. I-"

"I didn't see anything," Drake said, and then he slipped away into the night.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Guys, I can't be the only one loving these Drake & Josh wedding invite memes, right?! Ha ha! They're great!**

 **Anyway, no one reviewed last chapter except my friend in real life. I did get a message from Sleeping Owl, and I do appreciate that, bud. If a chapter sucks, tell me all about it so I know what kinds of things don't work.**

 **I'm not sure how often I'll be writing because Big Brother is back on for the next couple of months, and I am super obsessed with that show. Like, Big Brother is to my household like football is to normal households. It comes on three nights a week, and I'll get live feeds at some point probably, so that'll will be taking up a lot of my time.**

 **Thanks to everyone who still reads this. Mucho aprecio. Let me know your thoughts. That way, I'll stop whining about reviews. Until next time, my loves!**


	9. Falling

After what had happened, Drake knew that his mother wasn't going to be staying much longer. Plus, it was already late, and he just wanted to go to bed. Therefore, be hid behind a bush awaiting her departure. Just like predicted, the front door soon opened and Audrey stepped outside. Martin was right behind her.

"Come back inside," the man said.

"I told you no!" She was walking fast, for she just wanted to be as far away from here as possible.

"We can talk about this."

"There's nothing to say."

"I would like to see you again."

"That's not gonna happen."

She started to pull the handle on the door so that she could get inside of her car, but Martin slammed it closed and grabbed her arm, spinning her around. He stood super close to her, and he placed his hand on her cheek.

"I miss us being together. And you can't tell me that you don't feel the same way. Not after tonight. Not after the things you said to me. Not after the way you touched me-"

"Stop!" Audrey couldn't back away because she was pinned against the car, but she was able to shove his hand away. "I'm married."

"Your husband doesn't have to know."

"You took advantage of me when I was upset," she said. "I'm not putting all of the blame on you. This was my fault, too."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that this was a mistake! This meant nothing!"

Even from far away, Drake could see the hurt in Martin's eyes.

"This can never happened again, and it never will." She pushed the man away so that she could finally open her door. "It's been years. You should really try to move on. I already have."

When she was gone and his father was back inside, Drake came out of his hiding spot and crossed the yard. He went up the steps and pushed open the door.

"What the hell, dad?!" the young man said.

Martin grabbed him and slung him up against the wall. His eyes were watered over, which Drake couldn't recall seeing before in his entire life. "This is _your_ fault!" the man roared.

"My fault?! Get over yourself! She doesn't love you anymore!"

"If you wouldn't have barged in, we would've had a chance!"

"What were you even thinking? She's married. You're gonna destroy her marriage."

"No, you're the one who is destroying her marriage! I'm just taking back what's rightfully mine!"

Drake saw tears stream down the man's cheeks then, and it strangely broke his heart. "If you loved her," he started in a kind, gentle manner, "then why did you cheat on her in the first place?" It was something he was always curious about, but he'd never had the guts to bring it up.

Martin changed his grip to Drake's hair now and yanked him away from the wall, then he slung him onto the ground. "Get the fuck outta my face!"

Drake pushed himself to his feet, then took a couple of steps back, but he didn't leave. "Dad-" he started softly, but he was silenced as an empty beer bottle was hurled at him. He managed to dodge it, and he winced as it shattered into a million tiny pieces. He hardly had time to recuperate before another bottle was tossed his way. He held his hands up in front of himself to shield himself as he backed away. The third bottle actually did make contact with the young man's shoulder, earning a scream from him. The sound of glass crunching under his shoes filled his ears as his back came into contact with the wall.

One last bottle whirled through the air and just missed his head by mere inches. This visibly spooked Drake, but what scared him even more was when the man came storming towards him. On his way across the kitchen, he grabbed a sharp knife from the knife block. To make himself as small as possible, Drake bent his knees and started to slide his back down the wall. However, Martin snatched him up by his hair and forced him to stand up straight. Drake winced at the pain in his scalp, but he didn't complain about it because his father had the knife pressed against the left side of his neck.

"Never mind," he conceded with a quivering voice. "Forget I said anything." He still had his hands in front of his chest, but they didn't do much good now.

"I WANNA FUCKIN' KILL YOU!" Martin shouted so passionately that saliva splattered from his lips. "YOU'VE TAKEN EVERYTHING FROM ME!"

Drake's fingers started to shake. "Please, put the knife down." He was more than willing to take a beating if that meant that Martin would get rid of the weapon. He knew the man was furious, and with the sharp blade so close to his skin, one slip of control could leave him bleeding out on the floor.

"This was my chance to get her back! And you fucked it up, just like you always do!"

"I didn't know that she was still he-" Drake flinched when Martin screamed through his teeth, then wound the knife back in an underhanded manner and stabbed right into the wall between Drake's thighs. The young man then lost his breath when his throat was grabbed. He felt himself being forced higher and higher until he was on his tippy toes. "Kkkk! Kkkk!" And then he wasn't touching the ground at all anymore.

Martin's lips were puckered tightly in a pout and his eyes were glistening with tears. Drake tried to pull the man's hands away, but he wasn't strong enough. His eyes watered over, too. He kicked his feet, trying his damnedest to get his toes on the ground. He gripped his father's hair, trying to yank him away or hurt him enough so that he'd lose his grip. This didn't work.

"Gkkk! Kkkk!" His stomach convulsed as his lungs tried to take in a deep breath of air. Drake clenched his eyelids together for a moment, and when he opened them, they seemed to be a darker shade, and tears finally streamed down both of his cheeks as if they were in a race to see who could reach the floor first. Drake let go of Martin's hair, then clawed at his own neck, tearing away at his skin with his unkempt fingernails so much that it started to bleed in places.

There was panic in his eyes, and he knew he was a goner. He had ten seconds left. Tops! He squeezed his eyes shut.

The next thing he knew, he was on the ground with a sharp pain in his right leg, the left side of his skull, and his shoulder. "Guuuuh!" he inhaled, clutching his throat and finding that there was no longer anything there to block his airways. "Huuuuuuh!" His eyes were wide, and throughout all of this commotion, he noticed that he had a cut on his leg from where the knife in the wall had caught him as he'd been tossed onto the floor. He didn't have a chance to offer it comfort, though, because he had a pounding ache in his head, which he found was also bleeding after it was cracked against the floor during his fall. "Huuuuuuh!"

"Get the fuck out of my sight before I decide to put you out on the streets again!" Martin snatched him up to his feet, then immediately shoved him down again.

"Oof!" Drake landed on his hands and knees, then on his stomach with his chin scraping against the linoleum floor with a loud squeak when the man kicked his bottom.

"Get out of here! Get! Get!"

It took another kick to get him moving. He dragged himself along pathetically with his elbows until he was able to get on his knees again, but like before, he was kicked from behind and fell on his stomach. He didn't even have time to move before a boot made contact with his skin again, this time on his side, then again right under his arm. Unable to think properly, Drake stopped trying to get away and wrapped his arms over his head. This enraged the man.

"I SAID GET THE FUCK-"

Scared to death, Drake scrambled to continue his pitiful crawl away from the man.

"-AWAY FROM ME, YOU WORTHLESS CUNT!"

When he had managed to leave the kitchen, he found that he was no longer being followed. That didn't stop him from crawling all the way down the hall just in case Martin changed his mind; it would take too much time to stand. Once inside of his room, he shut the door, reached up, and locked it behind him, his breathing heavy. The second he did that, he started thinking about the trouble that he would get into if Martin stormed after him and found his door locked. Against his better judgement, Drake unlocked the door, then pushed himself to his feet, staring at it with fear as he backed away, expecting the man to burst through at any moment. Thankfully, he didn't.

The young man went over to the mirror and examined his neck. It was covered with fingertip-sized bruises, and it had a long, bright red streak connecting them all. He had his lips pressed tightly together and he breathed intensely through his nostrils as an attempt to keep himself from crying. He looked down at the tear in his pants and saw that the whole area was covered with blood. He removed them and cursed. "Shit!" he whispered as blood dripped down his leg.

He opened one of the drawers to grab an old tee shirt, then cursed again when he saw that it was empty. Martin had trashed all of his shit. How could he have forgotten? How was he going to stop the bleeding now? He didn't dare leave this room and hide out in the bathroom. Drake half-limped/half-hopped over to the closet. This is where Megan's clothes that Martin had bought her were so that she didn't have to constantly pack and unpack every weekend. He grabbed a shirt, then he sat down on the bed and held it against his wound to apply pressure. The young man clenched his teeth at the pain.

After a couple of minutes, Drake pulled the shirt away and saw that blood was still leaving the cut. He cursed, then decided to rip a long strip from the shirt. Maybe Megan wouldn't miss it. He wrapped it around his leg just above his knee to cover the wound, then tied it. When he pulled the two ends tighter, he instantly regretted it.

"Ah!" He tried to keep himself quiet. He didn't want to attract Martin's attention. He bit his bottom lip, then slid backwards on the bed and laid down on his back.

* * *

Drake started to wake when his hair was snatched, and when he hit the floor, he was on full alert. He was so tired that his vision was blurry. He blinked a couple of times, blind to that fact that Martin's foot was flying right towards him.

"Ahh!"

Drake could smell alcohol before he could even see clearly. Although Martin was standing and the young man was on the floor, the strong scent reached his nostrils. His father must've had quite the binge after what had gone down with Audrey, and now that he was fired up, he was ready for a round two.

"Ahh!" Drake scooted himself backwards after being kicked again. When he bent his knee, a sharp pain went through him, but his heart was beating fast and adrenaline was pumping through his veins, so he continued to move away. Unfortunately, he found himself in the corner behind his bedroom door. "Wait," he tried, but Martin took another shot at him, this time with his fist. Then another. And another. And another. And another. Drake had his knees to his chest and his arms in front of his head to instinctively protect the most important part of his body. "I didn't do anything!" he screamed, his voice muffled by his arms. "Ahh! Ah-ha!"

Irritated that he couldn't get a good punch in, Martin snatched his son up by his wrists, then shoved him towards the middle of the floor. He kicked the boy's side, flipping him onto his back. Drake lifted his hands as a plead to stop, but instead, Martin stomped his foot down as hard as he could on top of the boy's chest, knocking the air out of him. Drake lifted one side up off of the floor so that he could roll into a ball, but before he knew what was happening, Martin had made his way over to the other side of him and was able to kick him in the stomach. His body jerked. He tried to shrink away, caving his stomach inwards as a failed attempt to escape. Living on the streets had been miserable, and it felt like months since he'd been here, so he'd almost forgotten what it was like to take a proper beating.

When it got to the point that he couldn't take it anymore, he grabbed hold of his father's pant leg, hoping to slow him down. Instead, this pissed the man off even more. He wound his boot back once again, but this time, he smashed it against his son's face, causing blood to fly from his mouth. Drake was force onto his back after that blow. He blinked with surprise. He had no time to recuperate as Martin brought his boot down hard on his cheek just as he had done to his chest earlier, but this time, he didn't let up. Drake could feel his dad putting more and more of his weight on him. He swore the man was trying to crush his skull. He gripped Martin's shoe and tried with all his might to lift it, fighting against his father's power. His neck was strained, and he feared that it might break at any second.

"Gggg!" He fought so hard that he grunted, but finally, the weight was gone.

Immediately, however, Martin gave him one last kick to the face. Drake involuntarily let go of a sob, and when he did so, blood splattered from his lips. He coughed, and more of the crimson liquid came out. He started to push himself into a sitting position, but he was too weak, so he fell onto his back again, his eyes wide and rapidly blinking at the pain he felt all over his body. He winced at the sound of the door slamming as his father left the room. He rolled onto his side, then held himself up on his elbow. Blood poured from his busted lips like a waterfall and gushed out of his nose.

"Fuck," he whined, his eyes watered over. He got onto his hands and knees, then weakly pushed himself out of the floor with another sob leaving his lips. He hunched over, clutching his stomach, until he was able to sit down on his bed. He rubbed his eye, for some bit of dirt had fallen off of the man's shoe and had landed inside of it. When it felt better, he reached down and grabbed Megan's torn shirt, then he started wiping his nose and mouth off.

* * *

 _(4 days later)_

Drake had spent the last several days laying in bed and getting the much-needed rest his doctor had ordered. He still felt like shit and sometimes it hurt to breathe. The only reason he had gotten out of bed was because he had to go to the O today to sell for Marcellas. On top of that, he has to bring five hundred from skipping out last week, but he didn't have it. He only had today to come up with such a substantial amount of money, and he had no idea where he would get it from.

Drake stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. After that, he wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked it in so that it would stay. He exited the bathroom, made his way to the kitchen, crossed it, then went into the basement. He descended the steps, then went over to the washer and dryer machines. He still had the same outfit that his father had let him borrow: the same over-sized shirt, the same pants with the tear in the leg. He needed clothes asap, but he didn't know how he could possibly afford them. He owed Marcellas five hundred and had no idea how to get it. And when he would come into some money somehow, he always blew it on Triple C's (which he hadn't had in forever and desperately needed) or food (see Triple C's).

Suddenly, Drake could feel arms wrapping around him, pinning him up against the machine. He knew it was his father, but he hadn't heard him come down the stairs. He wiggled as an attempt to get away, but it didn't last long because he knew that it was useless. He felt his towel drop to the floor.

Martin's lips were on his neck, and his body was pressed against his son's. He whispered, "You must be walking around my house half-naked like that because you're dying for me to fuck you."

Drake's nostrils flared with disgust. When Martin let him go to pull down his own pants and underwear, the young man tried to get away. That's when his hair was grabbed and his head was violently shoved against the top of the washer, forcing him to bend over it. "Ahh!"

Martin gripped one of Drake's wrists and lifted it. "Open your hand."

The boy refused.

"I said open you hand!"

Drake kept his fist tight.

Infuriated, Martin yanked the boy's head up by his hair, then slammed it down against the washer again. "Open your god damn hand!" Then again. "Open it!"

And then Drake gave in. Pleased with himself, Martin grinned, then he lifted it again and spat on his son's palm. After that, he wrapped the boy's fingers around his own private member and started forcing him to tug at his desired speed.

"There we go," Martin said.

Drake wanted to let go, but the man had a firm hold over his fingers. It wasn't long before he felt him harden in his hand, and after that, Martin tossed the boy's arm to the side and aimed himself at the real thing. A quiet sound of pain left Drake's lips when he was poked. He squeezed his eyes closed with discomfort as the man inched his way in further.

"This is one thing that I actually dearly missed while you were gone."

Drake didn't.

"You know, your mom likes taking it from behind, too." Martin reached around and started fondling Drake's balls. "She loves when I'm pushing into her, and the noises she makes when I start massaging her clit-"

"Stop," Drake said.

"And she's so wet that she's dripping all over my hand and all over the sheets."

Drake was ashamed when he felt his own dick harden. He hadn't had sex in long time, but he still didn't understand why he was having so much trouble controlling it.

"Oh, Martin," the man moaned, imitating what Audrey would sound like as he gave the boy a handjob. "Harder. Harder. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh..."

"Don't."

"And then she would grip the sheets and make this cute little noise, and she'd cum all over my han-"

Suddenly, Drake squirted his release all over the washing machine, shocking Martin so much that he stopped pumping for a moment.

The man laughed. "Holy shit. What was that? Thirty seconds? That was, like, no time at all."

Drake was so humiliated that tears left his eyes. Martin finished up on him, exploding inside of him, then he tossed him onto the ground like a used napkin.

"I knew you wanted it, too," the man teased. "Next time, you don't have to walk around half-naked until I take notice. Just ask me, and I'll fuck you real good."

Drake's face was a bright shade of red. He averted his watery eyes, but Martin wouldn't let him ignore it. He snatched the boy up onto his knees, then shoved his cheek into the white bodily substance dripping down the front of the machine.

"Look at that! _You_ did that! You got off on the thought of your mother orgasming. You sick pervert."

Drake closed his eyes as he wept. He just wanted to die. He was having a lot of sexual issues lately after all the stress caused by being homeless. Now that he didn't have to worry about shelter or warmth, he had so much sexual tension inside of him just begging to be released, and he couldn't control it. It had all come out at the worst possible time, and he knew his father would never let him live this down.

* * *

Drake nervously stood outside of the front door, debating whether or not he should dip out and run. He'd already knocked, so he had a limited time to think. He bit his thumbnail, then double-checked the driveway to make sure that he was in the clear. Moments later, the front door opened. Molly leaned against the door-frame when she saw him.

"I didn't expect to see you here today." She grinned mischievously when she noticed that his eyes were traveling down her body. She was wearing a red bra that accented her cleavage nicely. Her underwear was the same color, and the front connected to the back by a tiny string, allowing him to see all the way up the side of her tan legs. She wore a black silk robe that she allowed to hang open shamelessly. Satisfied with his speechlessness, she grabbed his shirt collar and dragged him inside. "I got us a new toy," she said as she led him upstairs.

"I didn't..." Drake started. Before he could get himself to continue, he found himself inside of her room. He was shoved onto her bed, and then she opened her closet. "I didn't come for sex," he finally said.

She stopped rummaging around, then turned and looked at him. She liked the way her relationship with Drake was. He was a nice lay, and she didn't have to worry about emotions getting in the way. They didn't talk about feelings. They didn't talk about life. They didn't actually do a lot of talking at all. Mentally, Drake was practically a stranger to her, and that's the way she preferred it.

"I, um..." Drake shifted uncomfortably, and he suddenly regretted coming here.

"What?" Molly pushed.

He avoided her eyes when he spoke. "I'm in a bit of a mess, and I just thought maybe - I don't know - that you might be able to loan me, like, five hundred dollars?"

God, he said it. He actually managed to get the words out there. That's the hard part, right? He let go of his breath, then shyly lifted his eyes to see her reaction. She seemed surprised, which he'd expected. Her silence made him uncomfortable. She was probably appalled that he'd had the audacity to even ask. Honestly, he was, too. However, he had only a few hours and nowhere else to turn. She was rich. The money was nothing to her.

His face turned red when she didn't give him an answer, and he stood, making his way over to the door. "I shouldn't have asked you that. I overstepped my boundaries. I'm sorry. I'm so embarrassed."

"No, no, don't be." She stopped him. "I mean, I'm kinda relieved. I thought you were about to profess your love to me or something. I'll tell you what. I'll give you the money."

Drake finally felt his muscles relax.

"I was wondering when you'd ask honestly. I mean, I've noticed some tens missing from my purse after you leave sometimes."

Busted. "I'm so sorry. I-I-"

"It's okay. When it comes to you, I'm always willing to pay. You're my favorite."

This was the first time that she'd hinted towards the possibility that there were others like Drake, but he didn't ask because honestly, he didn't care, nor was he surprised.

"So how about-" Molly smirked and started pushing him backwards. "-you satisfy my needs, and then I'll satisfy yours."

At that moment, Drake fell backwards onto the mattress again. Molly leaned over him and pushed her lips against his. The young man closed his eyes and kissed her back. He slipped his hands inside of her robe and around her lower back, pulling her crotch against him, then he moved his hands over her ass. Molly purred, then pulled away.

"But I wanna use my new toy today." Again, she went over to the closet. She opened a box that Drake couldn't see, and when she faced him again, she wore a huge grin and a strap-on.

"Uh, I'm..." Drake couldn't stop staring as she moved closer, the fake penis swaying from side to side with each step. "I don't really think I'm comfortable with..." He trailed off when she hopped on top of his chest, straddling him.

"Oh, come on. I hear men enjoy anal sex better than women. I bet you'll love it. And look. It has a plug for me. And they both vibrate. Can you imagine how great this is gonna feel?"

He kindly pushed her off of himself, then sat up. "I really don't want to."

She sighed. "Fine. But you're not gonna get that five hundred then."

"Molly, this _really_ makes me uncomfortable." He didn't want to be a little bitch, but she seemed understanding the last time he'd brought up his thoughts about one of their sexual adventures that he didn't feel comfortable repeating.

"Why? Because it doesn't feel masculine? I thought you were mature enough to understand that enjoying anal sex doesn't make you gay. Plenty of straight men love it - prefer it even. It makes you experienced."

Drake met her eyes, then he looked down at the veiny penis again. He really needed that money. He feared what Marcellas would have his crew do to his family if he didn't bring it tonight. He couldn't let anything happen to them that he could've prevented.

"Fine," he said.

Molly jumped up excitedly, then went back over to the closet and grabbed a bottle of lube.

* * *

Drake could feel when Molly stopped tracing her finger around his sphincter to relax his muscles, and he knew then that it was time. The lubricant was warm, but it still made him shiver. He could feel as the woman pushed the head in and back out again. She could see his muscles tensing up again.

"Just relax," she said, pushing again.

"Just keep talking to me." He wanted to hear her voice so that his mind wouldn't wonder off to thoughts of his father, not that that would stop him from orgasming apparently. He got a sickening feeling in his stomach, but Molly's voice provided comfort and helped him to push those thoughts from his mind.

Pretty soon, she was able to push all six and a half inches inside of him without protest. She reached for the remote and flipped on the vibrator. This surprised him, but he couldn't deny the pleasure as a noise left his lips. Molly continued to thrust into him, feeling empowered and in control. She always loved being the more dominant one during sex, but this was different. Just the fact that she had been able to convince him to do this was hot. He was on his hands and knees, and his ass was taking the beating this time, and that made her soaking wet. She fantasized about securing a collar around the boy's neck and spanking him into submission, but that was for another time because he was so new to anal, and she'd hardly been able to get him to agree to this. Usually, they both sexily fought over dominance, but she was one step closer to turning him into her sex slave. Molly turned the vibrator up and grinned as the boy gripped her bed sheets and hid his moan against the pillow.

"Oh, God..." he whispered.

Because watching men submit to her will aroused her and pain was her favorite way to make this happen, she picked the darkest bruise she could find on Drake's skin and bared down on it suddenly.

"Ahhhhh!"

Then again.

"Gaahhhh!" The young man bit down on the pillow case and grabbed the sheets in his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"You're about to orgasm, aren't you?" She grabbed hold of Drake's hair and yanked it back-

"Ah!"

-then held the vibrator's remote controller up next to his face. "Beg me."

And Drake did.

Molly turned the vibrator up to its third and final speed. She reached around and gripped Drake's erect penis. As she pumped into him from behind, she tugged on him to fully consume him. She loved watching him squirm around helplessly. She loved that the tables were turned. They both seemed to climax at the exact same time. Molly panted in a high-pitched voice as she moved faster. Drake couldn't keep the moans and whimpers from escaping his lips. Again, the woman grabbed his hair and yanked his head up roughly so that she could hear them better. The sounds leaving him turned her on.

Drake was exploding with a pleasure that he'd never before felt as the dildo bumped into and massaged his prostate. Even though he'd orgasmed during a couple of rapes, it had never felt like this. He couldn't begin to describe it, but this definitely had to be one of his best sexual experiences ever.

"Oh, shit," he moaned as he came. "Oh my God..." He weakly fell onto his stomach.

Molly turned off the vibrator, then landed right on top of him, breathing heavily against his sweaty back. Drake panted for breath. He could feel the strap-on still poking at his leg, but he was too exhausted to move a muscle.

"Jesus, god damn," he whispered.

Molly laughed through her pants, then rolled off of him, her bare chest lifting up and down rapidly with her deep breaths. "How was that?" she asked.

Drake looked at her, and they both grinned at the fact that she'd even asked when the answer was plain as day. He leaned closer to her, then connected their lips.

* * *

"Drake," Marcellas greeted with enthusiasm as the boy stepped through the door. Sincerely, he asked, "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, thanks." He wasn't, but he didn't want to show a weakness in front of these guys.

"You got my money?"

Drake handed him five one hundred dollar bills. After a quick count, the man passed it to one of his crew.

"You know, this is the second time you've fucked up and somehow managed to give us a large sum of money. If you can do that in such a short amount of time, you should be able to pay me back no problem."

Drake had fucked someone for that money, and although he had enjoyed it, it was still considered prostitution. He had whored himself out for the cash, and it wasn't one of his proudest moments.

Marcellas handed Drake his bag of pills, then gave him a curt nod. The young man was thankful that he didn't have to be in that room for very long. It made him nervous. When Meelah had been there, they trusted that she would pay it back. Marcellas used to hang out with her brother, and he had known Meelah since she was born. Now that she was out of the picture, Drake was just another guy who owed him money. And a lot of it.

* * *

Drake nodded to the guy who stood in front of the back entrance. The man opened the door for him, and he stepped outside into the darkness. It was freezing, but he preferred to be out here away from everyone for a moment. He hated everyone crowding around him asking for pills and wanting to be his best friend. He was sick, and he was exhausted. Normal people with pneumonia would be in bed for days, but he had to hide it and push through and get shit done. All he wanted was to go back to sleep. But what he wanted more was food. And what he needed even more than that was Charlie.

Drake slid his back against the wall until he was resting on his bottom. The young man coughed, then clutched his pounding head. His chest still hurt when he breathed, and his muscles often ached, especially around his shoulders. _Just go in there and sell the rest of these. You're almost done. And then you can go home._ It was easier said than done. No matter how much he tried to hype himself up, he couldn't get himself to move a muscle and get back on his feet. It was as if the task ahead of him was completely impossible. At this rate, he'd never get done. He pondered on the idea of taking a couple of these pills to liven himself up, but then he'd be up all night and all he wanted was sleep.

The young man heard the door open, but it wasn't until he heard his name that he looked up. Standing before him were the last two people he would've ever expected to see here: Josh and Mindy.

"W-what are you guys doing here?" he asked.

Josh was taken aback by his appearance. The last time he'd seen his brother was after the boy's overdose. That was weeks ago. Possibly even a full month. Every time Josh saw him, he was always shocked by his declining health, hygiene, and appearance, and he always thought, "There's no way that it could get worse than this." Yet each time, he was proved wrong. It was as if Drake hadn't had the tiniest bite to eat since they'd last spoken. How could someone who had once been so prideful of his looks let himself get to this point?

Mindy answered since Josh was still examining his brother's changes. "We wanted to see you."

"How did you know where to find me?" Drake asked.

"Lucky guess. I knew you hung out here. I've dropped you off here before. Remember? And then we saw you come out here, so we followed you."

"Do you have have a cigarette?" he asked, although he wasn't holding his breath.

"No, I quit a while ago."

"Shit." Drake then tried to mask his disappointment and instead be supportive. "I mean, but that's good, though." There was a long silence, but he decided to break it with, "So, what, uh...why are you here?"

"We just wanted to hang out. Josh misses you, and I figured that it was time for you two to reconnect."

Her boyfriend smiled sheepishly.

"That's really nice and all, but I'm not really in the mood to be social today," he said as kindly as he could.

Mindy called him out. "Says the guy at the club."

Drake averted his eyes. "Right."

There was no getting rid of them. He was too tired to care whether they left or stayed anyway. Either was fine to him.

Just then, the door opened again. "Drake! My man! I've been looking for you for hours!" A young, obnoxious skateboarder-poser kind of guy bounced over to him. "I kept asking around for you."

Drake stood and whispered, "Can you just wait for me inside and I'll come find you?"

"No way, bro! I'm not chancing losing you in the crowd." He pulled out a ten.

Paranoid, Drake quickly snatched it out of his hand, his voice still quiet. "Jesus, what the fuck?" He looked at his brother and ex...whatever she had been to him, then figured it was too late to hide what he was doing. He glanced around the gated area. It was empty other than the four of them. He pulled one of the pills from his pocket and passed it to the boy, who thanked him and then disappeared inside. Drake kept his eyes in that direction to avoid Josh's stare.

Josh finally spoke up for he first time since he'd arrived. He tried to make himself sound indifferent, but Drake could definitely hear the hurt and disappointment and confusion slipping out of his voice when he said, "You're selling drugs now?"

Drake hung his head, then meekly rubbed his right bicep with his left hand. Mindy elbowed Josh, reminding him of what they had talked about before coming here. She'd warned him about the way Drake looked and the person that he'd become. Although she had no idea about his drug dealing, she'd suggested that Josh stay neutral and not react with anything but positivity. She'd explained that that's what had really helped her clean herself up. His family had been so nice to her. But when she got encouragement, Drake got put-downs. When she received praises, Drake was given a guilt-trip. When she got to go through withdrawals in the boy's old bedroom surrounded by caring and loving people, Drake got threats of a long-term rehabilitation center that didn't allow field trips, visits, or phone calls. She understood that it was different. He was their son. They cared more about him than they did her. That's why they were so tough on him. They only wanted the best treatment plan, and they were willing to pay professionals who were educated on the subject. Drake didn't see it that way. When there was a problem, his mom would handle it by getting rid of it. She didn't know how to be there for him emotionally when he needed it no matter how much she wished she did. That's why she'd sent him to a mental hospital when he was thirteen. That's why she wanted to lock him in a rehab facility now.

Josh cleared his throat and retracted his previous question. "How long have you been here?"

"A few hours."

"Do you...do you come here often?"

Drake couldn't help that the corner of his lips twitched up in a small smile at his brother's awkwardness. This made Josh feel better and less nervous.

"I guess you could say that," Drake said. "Kind of a weekend thing."

Mindy was pleased that their conversation was going well. She'd given Josh a list of things not to mention: drugs, weight loss, bruises and/or injuries, living situation, an invitation to come back home, his mother, his father, etc. These were all things that Mindy had noticed at one point or another that seemed to make Drake squirrelly.

"You wouldn't happen to have twenty dollars that you could loan me, would you?" Drake asked.

Josh looked to Mindy. This wasn't something that the two had went over or rehearsed. If he asked for money, was he supposed to give it to him? However, Mindy wasn't giving him any sort of signals as to what he should do, so he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and passed him a bill.

"Great, thanks." He stuck it with the rest of the money he'd earned for Marcellas, then he grabbed two ecstasy pills and tossed them into his mouth, using his own saliva to swallow them down. If Josh and Mindy were planning on staying, he was going to need something to take the edge off.

Josh watched uncomfortably, regretting giving him the cash he'd asked for now that he knew what it was being spent on, but he said nothing.

"I gotta get back in there," Drake said. "But you're free to stick around, yeah?"

"Yeah, sounds fun," Mindy said, giving her boyfriend a reassuring smile.

* * *

Josh's mouth hung open in the shape of a grin, but he wasn't really happy. Whatever pills his brother had taken had kicked in pretty quickly because Drake was currently talking a hundred miles per hour about some teacher he'd had in second grade. Although Drake was repeating things a lot, it was hard for Josh to keep up because all he could focus on was the fact that his brother was so far gone that he didn't even recognize him anymore. This wasn't the same guy who used to play video games with him and kindheartedly joke about all the terrible special effects in the Sy-Fy movies that Josh loved so much. This guy was a drug-fueled copy who didn't act the same, talk the same, or think the same. He didn't even look the same for Christ's sake. How had this happened? What if Josh would've noticed sooner? Could this have been prevented? What had Josh done to enable his addiction? Did he not give enough attention? Enough support? Why had he so willingly let the drugs completely take over without even once asking for Josh's help?

Just then, Drake and Mindy started laughing, cuing Josh to join in, too, even though he hadn't been listening.

"And then she fuckin' made me sit inside during recess. For that stupid shit. I was so pissed that I haven't forgotten about it to this day."

At that moment, a guy came up to Drake. This wasn't the first time since they'd taken a seat on some couches in the corner of the room. There was an exchange of money and pills, and then Drake looked back to his guests as if everything was okay, which, too him, it was.

Before Drake could start _another_ story about his second grade teacher, Josh said, "It's really late, and I'm getting tired. Mindy, are you about ready to go?" It had been roughly two hours, and Josh felt like he knew a lot more about Drake's second grade year than he really needed to.

She played along. "Yeah, I'm exhausted."

Suddenly, a man appeared beside Drake. It was one of Marcellas' guys. He bent down to speak directly into Drake's ear, and although he had to yell over the music, Josh couldn't hear him. However, he did see the smile immediately fade from his step-brother's lips, and the light in his eyes was replaced by what looked like fear.

"Alright, I'll see you guys later." Drake stood, then followed the man through the crowd.

Josh looked at Mindy. "Who was that?"

She shrugged, her eyes following as the boy disappeared somewhere in the sea of people. She placed her hand in Josh's, and as they started towards the door, they spotted him once more ascending the large staircase. The young man tugged on Mindy's arm to lead her outside. He couldn't get to his car fast enough. When they did finally get inside the vehicle, Josh immediately broke down into tears.

Mindy placed her hand on his shoulder with concern. "What's wrong?"

"He's not even the same person," Josh said through his sobs.

"He _is_ the same person."

"Didn't you see him in there?! He's lost all control! I'm never gonna get him back! He's never gonna clean himself up!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Mindy said softly. "There were people who have said that about me once, but look where I am now." She pulled him into a hug and placed his head on her shoulder. "I know he's really confused and his brain isn't quite clear, but I do believe that he will get his act together. I know he will. He talked about getting clean a lot when we hung out. I know he knows he needs to. He just has to want to. And when he's ready, you need to be there, just like you were with me, okay?"

Josh was still crying, but she did make him feel a tad bit better. He nodded, then pulled away and wiped his eyes.

She rubbed his bicep to continue offering comfort. "Are you okay to drive, or do you wanna switch spots?"

"I'll be fine," he said, then he sniffled. Josh put the key into the ignition, then turned it.

"Despite the way he acted when he first saw us, I think he was really grateful to see you. And I think you did really good. You didn't mention anything that would make him uncomfortable. He seemed to really open up."

"I don't think it was by choice," he said, referring to the pills.

Mindy agreed. "It'll take time."

* * *

Drake saw Cedric standing at his usual post. When he arrived at the door, the man stopped him by placing his hand on Drake's chest.

"They're on roof."

 _The fucking roof? Why the hell are they on the fucking roof?_ Drake didn't dare ask. He went all the way down to the end of the hallway, then opened the door on his left. It led to a staircase, which he climbed. There was another door at the top, and when he opened it, he found himself underneath the stars. He saw Rashaad and Marcellas up ahead looking down at the cars that drove past.

Drake decided to say something to get their attention. "I was told that you wanted to see me?"

The two turned. Marcellas waved him over, and Drake had no other choice but to obey.

"Are you fucked up?"

 _Deny, deny, deny!_ "No."

"You didn't dip in at all?"

"No." Drake was nervous, but he felt like he kept his cool pretty well.

"I was just wondering because I had some of my men come up to me and say you were acting strangely."

"I'm just really sick." Hopefully, that explained whatever weird thing he had been doing.

Marcellas nodded to his pal, who then roughly grabbed Drake's face. He shined a bright light in the boy's eyes. The young man reacted by squeezing his sensitive eyes closed at the sudden intrusion. Rashaad pinched one of Drake's eyelids, then forced it open. After a short moment, he nodded at Marcellas, who then cursed.

"You god damn liar!"

Before Drake knew what was happening, he was spun around and tossed at the thin concrete wall that kept people from falling over the edge of the roof. He pressed his back against it as the men came closer. Rashaad roughly grabbed his jacket and started digging into the pockets for the money and the leftover pills. He then passed them to his boss.

"You know, the one thing I hate worse than a junkie, Drake," Marcellas said, "is a liar."

Suddenly, the young man was snatched up by Rashaad, and he was shoved backwards. His eyes went wide with fear as he felt himself hanging over the wall. The only thing keeping him from taking a backwards plunge to his death was Rashaad's hold on him and vice versa.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I did take a few, but I paid for them. I didn't steal them."

"What do you think, Rashaad? You think that fall will kill him?"

"Nah, it's gonna break a hell of a lot of bones, though."

"Maybe then he'll learn his lesson and STOP FUCKING ME OVER!"

"I swear I won't ever get high here again. I swear to God!" Drake turned around and looked down to see just how high up he was. "Oh, shit," he whispered. "Oh, shit."

Just then, Rashaad let him drop further, and Drake could see the ground getting closer. It was just a scare tactic that time, for he didn't go too far. He tightened his grip on the man's jacket to assure that he wouldn't fall.

"Please," Drake begged, looking at Marcellas. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Marcellas nodded at Rashaad, who then completely let go of the boy.

"Aaahhhh!" Drake's scream was full of fear, and tears left his eyes. "Please, don't let me fall! Please!" He was holding on with all his might, clinging to Rashaad's jacket for dear life. "Aahhh! Ahh!" Although Drake was practically a twig, he was so weak that he could hardly hold up his own weight. "Marcellas, I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again! I swear on my life!"

"But see, Drake, I know that you're a liar. So how am I supposed to trust you?"

"Please! I swear! I swear!" Drake could feel his palms getting sweaty and his grip slipping. "No, please." The zipper had cut open his skin on both hands between his thumbs and pointer fingers, but he fought against the pain. "Please, don't let me fall. I can't..." He let go of a sob as he watched his fingers slide towards the end of the man's jacket. "Help me. Please." And then the cloth slipped right through his fingertips. "Aahhhh! Ahhhhh! Ahhhhhh!"

Thankfully, Rashaad still had a hold of his feet, so Drake's back and head slammed against the brick wall.

"Ugh! Ooowww," he groaned as he dangled upside-down. His shirt lifted (or dropped, depending on your perspective), revealing Drake's bruised chest and stomach. The young man tore at the walls with his fingernails as if he could get some sort of traction and climb back up himself. "Pull me up! Pull me up!" This way, Drake had a better view of the street below him, and it terrified him even more. "Please, God, please! Don't let me go! Please!" Just then, his phone slipped out of his back pocket, then dropped all the way to the ground, shattering against the concrete. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Heeeelp!" he screeched. "I don't wanna die like this! Please! I'm so scared!"

He didn't hang upside-down for too long before Rashaad reached his hand down and grabbed Drake's arm, pulling him up. The young man was filled with relief. However, they weren't finished with him. As they lifted his upper half, they shoved Drake's feet over the edge, then made him hang on to the wall himself.

"Guys, please," the young man begged. He tried to pull himself up and over, but Rashaad would push down against the top of his head to keep that from happening. His arms screamed with pain and exhaustion, but he fought it. "Please, don't let me fall." Tears poured down his cheeks as he met there eyes, but he saw no sympathy in them.

Instead, Marcellas held up a lighter, then he flicked it. Drake fearfully stared at the flame, then watched as it was brought closer to his right hand.

"Please, no. Don't. Don't! No, please!" He could feel the flame scalding his skin, but he couldn't let go. For motivation to stay strong, he looked down and reminded himself of how far the fall would be. "Oh, boy." He clenched his teeth and blew air out, and the second he lifted his head and looked at the men, a hammer came down and smashed the fingers on his left hand. "Gaaahhhhhh!" His immediate reaction was to yank his hand away. "Aaaah! Ggggg!" He was certain that his middle finger was broken. There was no question about it. Now he was left with one hand, which they were steadily going at with fire. "God damn it, please. I'll do anything. Please, Marcellas." Drake's fingers felt like they were in flames, which, technically, they were. He was sure that the skin was melting away from the bones by now. "I can't hold on anymore," he said, hoping that they would finally pull him up, but they didn't. He was in so much pain that all he could do was scream.

And then he let go.


	10. Exposed

Drake bent his knees and squatted down. He was leaning against the brick wall that was around the door that led back inside. The young man was crying and shaking with terror. He knew that they were just trying to instill fear in him, but what if Rashaad wouldn't have caught him at that last millisecond? He could've been dead. He couldn't stop playing it over and over in his head like some sort of bad dream. His heart was beating out of his chest as if he were still hanging from the side of the building.

Drake noticed that the two men were walking towards him. Slowly, he stood up and pushed himself against the wall further, praying that they were done with him. It was obvious how scared he was. His bottom lip quivered no matter how hard he tried to stiffen it. He sniffled.

"You're done for the night," Marcellas said. "Go home, Drake. And don't bother showing up tomorrow. I'll figure out how we're gonna continue from here. We'll be in touch." He led Rashaad inside, and the door closed behind them.

When they were gone, Drake let go of a sob. His face contorted. He didn't leave, though. He was too embarrassed to walk through that crowd of people crying like he was. He wanted to calm himself down. He wiped his eyes and sniffled again.

 _I've gotta get out of this. I've gotta pay him off._ Drake tried to formulate a solid idea on how he could earn a lot of money in a short amount of time. His mind was still racing, so his ideas weren't too helpful. He could go home and beg his mother for the money, but did they even have an extra eight grand laying around? Who fucking did? There's Molly. She had let him borrow a couple hundred, but Jesus, this was so much more than that. It was already embarrassing that he'd even asked in the first place. What about Coach Tad? How many handjobs would it take to get the amount he needed? How much would he pay if Drake were to let him fuck him? _Oh, God, I don't want to._ The thought made him feel disgusted and hopeless, and more tears left his eyes. _What am I gonna do?_

Drake didn't want to stay up here on this roof all night for fear that they would come back, and he couldn't see himself ceasing his tears anytime soon, so he moved over to the door. It didn't budge. He gave it another hard tug, and still it didn't open. The young man banged his fist as hard as he could, but he knew that this door was too far away from anyone, and on top of that, the loud music would definitely drown out his knocks. He gave up, then looked around the roof. Off to the side, he saw a ladder. He moved towards it, then carefully positioned himself on it and started climbing down.

* * *

Drake closed his eyes tighter than they already had been when he felt a constant pounding on his head. Oh, God, the headache was back. As it continued, getting more and more painful by the second, it started to wake him from his deep slumber. Suddenly, a slap to the face opened his eyes, and he realized that the aching in his head had really been his father trying to shake him and pat his cheek to wake him.

"What the fuck?" Drake groaned grumpily as he clutched his stinging cheek.

"You've been out for three days. I was just checking on you."

"I'm fucking sick." Drake turned over to face the wall so that he couldn't see his dad. Out of sight, out of mind. He rested his head on his pillow again and closed his eyes. "Leave me alone."

And for a moment, Drake was left in peace, but only for a moment. The young man found himself being lifted up by his hair, and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor.

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to like that?!" Martin demanded.

Drake tiredly held his hand up as a way of surrendering and blocking himself from a punch at the same time. "Please, just let me sleep," he begged tiredly. "I just wanna sleep."

He was always tired, and having pneumonia didn't help. All he wanted to do was fall asleep and never wake up. Everyday was always the same soul-crushing repetition. Everyday, he was pushed around and treated like dirt, if not by his father, then by Marcellas' crew or the gym coach it seemed that he could never escape from or even himself. He had so many negative thoughts about himself that he was just tired. Everyday, he had to pick himself up out of the floor, dust himself off, and then carry on just to await the next time life would shove him down. He was always taking a beating, whether physically or metaphorically. He was always scared, always drained, always depressed, always digging himself in deeper, and honestly, he just wanted to die.

 ***FLASHBACK***

Drake's eyes slowly opened and he was surrounded by a bright white color. His vision was blurred, so he couldn't tell what his surroundings were. In the distance, he heard a steady beep. He blinked his eyes, but still, his vision didn't recover. He tried to call out for help, but only a quiet whimper left his lips, for all he could feel was a sharp pain in his stomach.

"Drake?"

The voices swam around in his brain, and it was then that he realized just how much his head was aching. He let out another whimper.

"Oh my God. Josh, get a doctor!" Audrey stood from the chair that she'd placed right next to her son's bed and she rested her hand on Drake's shoulder. "It's okay. Mommy's here. You're okay." She softly stroked his cheek.

Drake was confused, all he could feel was pain, and he couldn't see. All of this combined caused tears to build up in his eyes.

"It's okay, sweetie. It's okay. It's okay." Despite her words, she sounded as though she was crying as well.

"Drake, it's your father. Can you hear me?"

His parents noticed that his heart rate machine started beeping faster at his words. Drake hated that he couldn't see the man, and therefore, couldn't prepare for an attack. He lifted his hand as a lousy attempt and another noise left his lips.

Audrey gripped his hand and placed it on her own cheek. "You're gonna be okay. Just stay calm."

However, Drake tried to sit up, and he yanked his arm away from his mother, causing the IV to rip out of his skin. He let go of a scream.

"Where is Josh with that damn doctor?" Martin pushed Drake's back onto the mattress and tried to hold him still.

Just then, Josh jogged back inside with a doctor and nurse following right behind him. The professional saw as Drake snatched the white circles that were attached to his chest and tossed them to the side.

"We're gonna have to restrain him," the doctor said.

Audrey and Martin moved out of the way as the man gripped Drake's left hand and placed it in the restraints. He then reached over the boy and did the same with his other hand. The nurse had secured his feet.

"Mr. Parker, my name is Dr. Mydo. Do you know where you are?"

As Drake fought against his restraints, his eyelid was forced open wider, and a light suddenly clicked on and blinded him even more.

"Can you tell me what your name is?" He shined the light into the other eye. After giving him time to answer that question and receiving no reply, he asked, "How many fingers am I holding up?" He lifted three fingers.

Finally, Drake managed to get something out of his mouth that wasn't a whimper. "Mom..."

"Your mother's right here." The doctor waved her over, and she quickly obeyed.

"Drake, it's okay." She placed one hand on his cheek, then clutched his hand with her free one, holding it against her heart. "Just calm down. You're okay now. You're in the hospital, but you're gonna be just fine."

Finally, Drake's vision started to clear up. He blinked to quicken the process. After a moment, although it was still slightly blurry, he could see the outline of Audrey in front of him. "Mom..." he said again, calmer this time.

"The nice doctor is gonna check on you, okay? He's gonna make you all better so that we can take you back home."

The doctor went over to the other side of Drake because he saw that Audrey was a big help in keeping the boy calm. He reintroduced himself. "Mr. Parker, my name is Dr. Mydo. How are you feeling?"

"My stomach hurts." His voice cracked, for his throat was dry.

"That's completely normal. It'll go away in a little while. Do you remember why you're here?"

It hadn't occurred to him until this question was asked, but he _did_ remember. "Yeah."

"Can you tell me?"

"I tried to kill myself," he whispered.

Audrey sniffled, then squeezed his hand tighter.

"You've been in a coma for three days," Dr. Mydo informed. "But it looks to me like you're recovering. You're gonna be just fine."

Drake couldn't even begin to describe the sinking feeling in his gut. He had failed, and although his brain was so preoccupied on other things, he knew the sadness would be back in no time. All he wanted was to escape.

"You hear that, sweetie?" Audrey's thumb gently brushed at his cheek. "Everything's gonna be okay."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

"You wanna sleep?" Martin said, angry at the way his son had dared to speak to him. He wound his fist back and slugged Drake as hard as he could against the boy's skull, which knocked him unconscious. "You got it."

* * *

Drake hissed as he clutched his temple. He groaned, then pushed himself out of the floor, stumbling slightly with dizziness and exhaustion. The young man looked in the mirror and saw a trail of dried blood traveling down the side of his face. There was also a large, black bruise right next to his left eye. The wound was swollen, which didn't allow Drake to open his eye fully.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head aching.

He moved over to his nightstand and pulled open the top drawer. It was filled with some of Megan's stuff: an extra phone charger, earbuds, a couple Tiger Beat magazines. Drake rummaged around and found a bottle of Tylenol. He'd seen it in here before, and he tried to refrain from using it unless it was an emergency. If Megan noticed that some was missing, she might suspect that Drake was staying here when she wasn't. The young man twisted off the cap, then poured a couple onto his palm. After seeing how many was still inside and knowing that she'd never notice that any were missing, he poured two more, then he put the cap back on and stood, making his way to the kitchen. Drake opened the refrigerator, and looked around. The only liquid in sight was beer. Of course. He didn't mind, though. He pulled one out and popped the tab. He tossed the four pills into his mouth, then chased them down with Bud Light.

Drake chugged the entire can, then reached into the fridge and grabbed another. He tossed the empty one into the trash can on his way to the living room. The young man sat down on the couch. He hung his head tiredly and rubbed at his uninjured temple in hopes that his migraine would stop soon. He was only half-listening to the local news that was playing on the television. It was always the same anyways. The world was a bad place filled with bad people. Everyone was dying. Everyone was fighting. Everyone was stealing. The world needed a change, but Drake wasn't one to change the world. All he wanted was to sit around and get high. Maybe he was a bad person, too.

Suddenly, Martin plopped down next to him without a word. He leaned back, then lifted his feet and rested them onto the coffee table (which he'd recently found on the side of the road after Drake had fallen on top of the other one and broken it). Drake stood with the intent to change rooms. He felt too shitty to face the possibility of conflict head-on today.

"What? You can't spend time with your old man?"

"I'm just tired."

"Come on. Sit down." Martin patted the spot where his son had been sitting just seconds ago.

Drake silently sighed and obeyed because his father wasn't asking.

"I see you've helped yourself to my beer."

The young man opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't know how to respond.

"Relax. I'll let it slide this time. Just make sure you ask from now on."

Drake had squished himself up against the left arm of the couch. He wanted to be as far away from the man as possible in case he were to suddenly lash out. His discomfort was clear to Martin, for the young man was sitting so close to the edge that he was hardly on the couch at all.

"So how are you feeling?" Martin asked.

"Fine." Drake didn't turn to look at his father, but he wasn't really looking at the television either.

"Is the medicine helping?"

"A little." He kept his answers short.

"Have you been getting high while they have you on this medication?"

"Not yet."

"You know, maybe it's not a good idea."

"Do you care?" Drake dared, focusing on keeping himself from rolling his eyes.

"I mean, I _have_ saved your life more than once. That should count for something."

"But every time, you were the reason my life was in danger in the first place, no?" This time, Drake met his eyes.

"Well, excuse me for trying to have a nice conversation with my son."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Drake said sarcastically. "Was that not you that just punched me until I lost consciousness less than twenty minutes ago?"

"Fuck you, you little twerp."

Drake was tired, and because of this, he was having trouble keeping his mouth shut. "Fuck you," he said back.

"You have grown some balls, huh? Let's not forget about the time you got off thinking about me fucking your mother." He would always bring this up to show dominance.

"Piss off."

Drake stood and started to leave, but he didn't even take a single step before Martin grabbed him and shoved him onto the couch again. The man crawled on top of him, then reached down and easily gripped Drake's balls through the sweatpants he'd let the boy borrow days ago.

"Ahh!"

"Funny, they don't feel any bigger."

Drake squeezed his eyes closed at the pain. He tried shoving him away, but he wasn't strong enough.

"You must be all mouth, huh?"

"Fuck," Drake groaned. "Get off!"

"Not until you apologize."

"Fuck off." The young man yelled out when the man dug his fingertips deeper. "Gaahh! Let go!" And again, his precious private area was gripped tighter. "Aahhhhhh!"

"Say it," Martin urged.

It was more than obeying. If Drake were to give in, he would be agreeing to the fact that he was the weaker one. He would be submissive to the man in every way. But he wasn't sure how much longer that he could hold out.

"Say it!"

"I'm sorry! Okay?!" Drake took in a deep breath when he was let go, then he rolled off of the couch and clutched his lower region. "Mother fucker," he exhaled, his forehead resting against the carpet. "God damn."

Martin sat back down in his spot as if nothing had happened and he took a long swig of his beer. When it was empty, he stood and made his way into the kitchen. It wasn't long before he returned with another beverage. When he did, Drake was in the process of standing. However, before he could leave, the man stopped him.

"Sit your ass back down."

And Drake obeyed. He leaned back and placed his elbow on the arm of the couch, then he rested his head in his hand. They sat in silence like this for over an hour before Drake had dozed off.

* * *

Drake's eyes shot open and he took in a sharp breath when his arm was hit. He found himself on the couch. The young man looked over at his father, who was standing now.

"What?" he asked defensively, his voice strained. He stretched his arms and inhaled deeply. His eyes moved to the window, and he saw that it was almost nighttime.

"Fuck off. Megan's on her way."

The young man was half-asleep, and therefore, his father's words weren't clicking in his brain. "What?"

"Get the fuck outta here, I said!"

Now fully awake, Drake pushed himself to his feet. "Why?"

Martin took a threatening step closer. "Are you fucking questioning my authority?"

"No, I mean, why is she coming? It's not the weekend."

"You're kidding, right?"

Drake thought for a moment, but he still wore a clueless look on his face.

"Tomorrow's Christmas Eve," the man informed.

Jesus, Drake had slept through pretty much all of December, it felt like. He'd had no idea that it was so close. It had come so fast, and now it was about to pass just as quickly. Since he was high almost all the time, it was like he was doing a speed-run through his own life. Even though all of these holidays came and went, no day felt more special than the ones he spent with Charlie.

Martin gave Drake a look, which silently expressed the question, _What the fuck are you still standing here for?_

"Can I...can I borrow a jacket?"

"Yeah, sure. The green one is hanging up in my closet."

Since Martin didn't seem bothered by his question, he dared to ask another. "Can I borrow a few dollars?"

This time, Martin's face showed his irritation, but he gave in. He led the young man into his bedroom and grabbed his wallet off of his nightstand. "How many are you getting?" He knew where the money was going. "Two boxes?"

If it was anything else, he wouldn't risk losing his father's kindness, but since it was Charlie, he spoke up. "Or three."

As Martin rifled through his wallet, he glared at his son, but he handed over enough cash for the amount of boxes that Drake had requested and a little extra because his son looked like he could use a burger or maybe five. "Don't forget the jacket. It's fucking freezing outside."

Drake nodded his chin with gratitude, more so about the money rather than the jacket. "Thanks."

The young man went into his father's bathroom, then opened the closet. Inside was a stack of Christmas gifts all wrapped in shiny gold paper. These must all be for Megan. When had Martin gone out shopping? It must've been during Drake's three-day hibernation.

"Is Megan gonna be here for a couple days?" he called from the bathroom.

"No, she's just coming to open presents and have dinner tonight. You can come back around midnight." Martin checked his watch. "Have you cleaned your room?"

Drake emerged with his father's jacket in his arms. "No, I'll do that now."

When Megan comes over, Drake has to hide any evidence that he's been living here. It was much easier now that Martin had destroyed all of his belongings, but he did need to make the bed and go over everything just to be sure. He didn't want to be caught.

"Forget it. I'll do it." Martin waved his arms, guiding him out of his room and towards the back door. "She could be here any minute."

Drake stepped outside, then pulled the jacket on and wrapped it around himself closer as the cold wind hit him.

"Stay in the tree-line so they don't see you if they drive past."

Drake nodded, then slipped away into the night.

* * *

 _Ding!_

"Ah, Drake, it's good to see you!"

"Hey, Ahmed." The young man approached the counter.

"I haven't seen you in weeks," the man said. He turned and grabbed a pack of L&M menthol 100's. "Where have you been?"

"Around. I was back in the hospital again for a little while."

"Is everything okay?" Ahmed was genuinely concerned.

"Yeah. Just a case of pneumonia, but I'm a lot better now."

"I'm glad to hear it." He accepted Drake's cash. When the register popped open, he put it inside, then started digging for the boy's change. "I just put some hot dogs on the grill if you wanna grab one." He noticed that Drake looked much more unhealthy than usual. Stunningly so, in fact.

"I appreciate it. Thanks." Drake went over to the grill and grabbed a bun.

"So tell me, how long were you in the hospital?"

"Just a few days. I've been resting up at home mostly."

It didn't look that way, for Drake had a large bruise on his temple that caused his skin to swell up around his eye. On top of that, his lips were scabbed over, and there was a rough-looking cut down the side of his chin. However, he said nothing. He never wanted to make Drake uncomfortable because he wanted the young man to know that he could always find solace here anytime he needed to get away from whatever bad home situation that he was in.

"How are you spending your Christmas?" Ahmed asked.

"I don't know. I'll probably stay at home. I don't really have anything special planned." Having finished preparing his first meal in a while, Drake bit into the hot dog, then made his way over to Ahmed again. "You?"

"I do not celebrate Christmas."

"Right. Sorry. I sound so ignorant right now."

"Don't worry. I take no offense. There are several Muslim Americans who do celebrate holidays outside of the Muslim culture. I am not one of them."

"What kind of holidays do you celebrate?"

"Perhaps one that you may have heard about is called Ramadan."

Drake shook his head. "Maybe in high school, but I didn't really listen to anything in school."

"Ramadan is when we fast for one month everyday between dawn and dusk. When the sun sets at the end of the day is when the iftars take place."

"Iftars?"

"It is the meal we eat to break our sawm during Ramadan." He saw Drake's confusion when he used another word that wasn't in the boy's dictionary. "A sawm is like saying a fast."

"Oh," Drake said. "And when is this?"

"It started at the end of May this year."

"It's different every year?"

"It's just the way the ninth month of the Islamic calendar falls on the American calendar."

Drake was just about to ask another question when he turned his head towards the window, where a car door opening caught his attention. Out stepped his mother, with Megan following close behind.

"Shit," came out of his mouth. Without thinking, he hopped over the counter and hid on his bottom beside Ahmed's legs.

Just as he did so, the bell above the door dinged. Confused, Ahmed looked down at his friend, then back up to his new customers.

"Mrs. Nichols, hello. Good to see you again."

"Hey, Ahmed. Megan, go pick out some candy to put in your father's basket." As her daughter disappeared down one of the isles, Audrey approached the counter. "I can't believe there's no one here. I expected all your pumps to be filled with people leaving for the holidays."

"I had a few rushes throughout the day, but it's been slow for about an hour now. Is Megan going to her father's?"

"Yeah, I'm about to drop her off for a couple of hours. She just wanted to stop in to get some candy. She made him a little gift basket."

"Very nice idea. Then I would suggest the peanut M&M's." Ahmed looked at Megan. "They're your father's weakness. He gets them every time he comes in."

"Thanks." She grabbed three of those, a couple slim jims, a bag of Funyuns, a bag of peanuts, and a bag of David's sunflower seeds, then she carried them over to the counter and set them down.

"Why don't you grab him a Coke?" Audrey said, pointing towards the coolers. "He likes to pour peanuts in his Coke."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that." Megan made a face to show that she didn't agree with the taste, but she grabbed the beverage anyway.

"Will this be all?"

"This is it." Audrey opened her purse and pulled out her debit card. "Do you do the chip or...?"

"We do."

Audrey stuck her card inside of the bottom of the machine. "You'd think I would remember since I stop by here every week."

"Half the stores have it. Half don't. Sometimes, I even forget if we have the chip reader."

Audrey gave him a genuine smile and chuckled, then she punched in her PIN number. Ahmed bagged the items and handed them to Megan, then he passed the receipt to the mother.

"Come back soon," he said in a friendly way.

"You know we will." Audrey pushed open the door. "Bye."

Megan waved as she followed her mother to the car. When they were gone, Ahmed looked down at Drake, who was peeking over the counter just to be sure that they were gone. As he did so, he saw that the man had a gun on one of the shelves. Ahmed saw this.

"It's for protection," he said. "Last time someone tried to rob me, I almost died."

Drake remembered the story. He stood, then went around to the customer side of the counter. "Sorry," he said.

"Why were you hiding from Mrs. Parker? She's a lovely woman."

"She's my mom," Drake admitted.

"Then why are you hiding from your mom?"

"It's..." Drake sighed. "It's kinda complicated."

Ahmed saw that the boy was getting uncomfortable. "Actually, it's none of my business. You don't have to tell me anything."

Drake felt like he owed him a better explanation, but he didn't have one.

"Now that I think about it, I can see the resemblance. I can't believe I never noticed before."

Drake's close call made him anxiously crave a cigarette. "Yeah, people say I look a lot like her. Anyway, I'm gonna head out."

"Okay. Don't wait so long to drop by again."

Drake nodded as he pushed open the door.

* * *

Drake let go of a moan, which turned into a laugh halfway through. He wore a wide grin as he fell onto his back. He rubbed his palms against his face, feeling the numbness of his skin. God, how he'd missed this. It had been about two weeks since he'd last taken his favorite pills. He couldn't believe that sleep had ever been so necessary that he chose it over Triple C's. Now that he was finally reconnected with the love of his life, he felt like his head was back on straight.

"Oh, boy..." he said as the hallucinations started up, then he laughed again.

* * *

Martin opened the front door and saw his son standing there. It was obvious that he was high out of his mind, but he said nothing about it.

"Is Megan gone?"

"Yeah. She left an hour ago."

Drake stepped inside. "I'm exhausted. I'm gonna go to sleep."

Martin watched, slightly humored by the way that Drake was walking. The boy took giant steps as if he was walking on the moon or something. He didn't know he was doing it. In fact, he was trying to not make it so obvious that he was high, but in doing so, he did the exact opposite. Walking normally on Triple C's was a lot more challenging than it seemed.

"Oh, yeah, how did it go?" Drake remembered to politely ask.

"It went great. She loved everything I got her."

"That's good." The young man plopped down onto his bed, then relaxed on the comfortable mattress.

* * *

"Drake," Martin said, shaking the boy. "Drake, get up."

The young man squinted his eyes at the light that his father had turned on. "The fuck?" he groaned.

"Get dressed. I'm dropping you off at your mother's."

This woke Drake. "Um, what?" He sat up.

"You heard me."

"I'm not going to Mom's."

"I said you're going. You're fucking going. End of discussion."

"Not end of discussion," Drake said. "What the hell brought this on?"

"Your mother was really upset yesterday when she dropped Megan off. She's never spent Christmas without you. She's always thinking about you. She's always crying over you. You're gonna spend the holidays with her." Martin grabbed his arm and pulled him out of bed.

"No, I'm not." Drake yanked himself away.

"You are the worst son ever. How can you treat your mother like this?"

Drake was hurt by his words, but he knew that Martin was only speaking the truth. But he couldn't show up to his mother's looking like he did. Wouldn't that break her heart more than him not showing up at all? At least this way, she wouldn't see just how bad off he was.

"You know what? I don't even care. I meant what I said. You're going to your mother's, and that's final."

"The hell I am."

Martin glared at him for a moment, then he stormed out of the room, slamming Drake's door behind him. Surprised that he'd actually won what was probably the first argument ever against his father, the young man sat back down with a look of pride and satisfaction. He yawned. He'd gotten in late last night, and looking at the clock, he found that it was three in the afternoon. Why was he so tired after all the sleep he'd gotten? He was pretty sure he'd slept for twelve or thirteen hours. It was probably because today was come-down day. He decided it would be best to sleep for a while, and when Martin calms down, he would ask for a few bucks and go on a Charlie run. Now wasn't the best time to ask. Drake laid back down. He was surprised by how easy it was to doze off again. However, the peace didn't last for long.

Drake jumped out of his skin when his bedroom door burst open so hard that the knob went into the pre-made hole in the wall and popped right back out again. Martin furiously shoved it back to clear the pathway towards his son, who was just beginning to make a move head-first towards the foot of his bed.

"Not so fast, you little cunt." Martin snatched him back by his ankle, only using one hand because he held a kettle in the other. Struggling to obtain the boy, he set the kettle down and grabbed hold of Drake's hair. Without thinking, he smashed the young man's face against the edge of his wooden headboard.

"Gahhh!" Drake clutched his eye, unable to fight as he was pulled closer to his father. He was half-blinded, but he saw Martin reaching down towards the floor, assumably going for the kettle, so Drake quickly tried for another escape, this time going towards the head of the bed in hopes that he could get past his dad and run out the door.

Unfortunately, Martin was too fast. He grabbed onto the boy's torso, then slammed his elbow against Drake's nose when he fought.

"Ugh!" Drake suddenly realized that this wasn't the best plan because now he was trapped in the corner. He was pinned on his stomach, for Martin had planted himself right on top of his shoulders, but with his back to Drake's head. "Get off!" The young man could feel his shirt being yanked upwards and a breeze hitting his back, and then there was only pain. "AAAHHHHHHHHHHH! GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" he screeched as Martin poured the boiling water onto the lower left corner of his back. He couldn't put into words just how much pain he was in. Excruciating, agonizing - nothing quite summed it up. "AAAAHHHHHHH!" The young man kicked his legs, his toes curled tightly. The liquid not only hit its destination, but it also streamed down his side and towards the crease in the middle of his back. "DAD, STOP IT! PLEASE!"

Martin kept going. He had the kettle filled to the brim, and he planned on using all of it - slowly, so that it would last longer. He ignored his son as the boy reached his arms back and tore at his father's jeans in an unsuccessful attempt at causing the man pain. Drake tried bending his elbow and grabbing the back of Martin's tee in his fist as he begged him to stop, his cries muffled against the mattress. The young man was pretty much powerless in this position.

"OOOOWWWW! AAAHHHH! AAAHHHHHHHHH!" Drake clawed at the headboard, and his broken fingernails actually made several marks down the wooden surface.

"You see, when you piss me off, this is exactly what it feels like on the inside!" the man yelled over Drake's screeches of pain. "You get my blood boiling, and I just wanna snap your little fucking neck!"

"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! AAAHHHH, FUCK!"

"You need your mouth washed out, too?!"

"NO, PLEASE! STOP! I'M BEGGING YOU!" Drake could feel when Martin gradually moved a bit higher up his back, reaching unharmed places. "DON'T! DON'T! DON'T! HEEELLPPP! HEEEEELLLLPPP!"

Martin knew that when Drake got desperate enough to the point where he was screaming for help he knew would never show, it was time to reevaluate the situation. Although to Drake it had probably felt like forever that this had been going on, it had only been about twenty or thirty seconds tops. Martin had just now taken notice to the fact that the steam alone that was coming off of the water was scalding his own skin. It was a lot hotter than he'd originally thought, and maybe Drake had learned his lesson.

The man set the kettle back down, then got off of his son, but he was far from done. Just as the boy started to slide himself off of the soaked bed, Martin snatched his neck and slammed his head against the wall. Drake was in such a position that his legs were hanging off the bed, his back was against the hot mattress, and his head was against the wall. His neck was compressed, and on top of that, Martin had a tight grip on it, so Drake couldn't breathe. The boy was already in a panic since he'd spent the last half a minute or so screaming his lungs out. He had no air supply, and his back was killing him. He lifted his sensitive skin off of the mattress as an attempt to ease the searing pain, pushing his body against Martin's as the man leaned over him to clutch his throat. Drake took turns to gasp for air and let go of sobs as tears flooded his cheeks.

"Haven't we been over what happens when you disobey me before?" Martin asked calmly. "I believe we have."

Drake couldn't get any words out, so he only mouthed an _I'm sorry_ and a couple repetitive pleads as he struggled to take in a breath while keeping his back from being irritated by the mattress.

"Are we gonna start having some problems?" It was then that he let go, for he expected an answer this time.

Drake gasped for air over and over again, and after his lungs filled back up, his rapid breaths turned into silent sobs, which violently shook his whole body. He closed his eyes and slowly slid his head sideways against the wall until it rested against the mattress. His brought his hands up to his head and placed the bottom of his palms just above his eyes. That's when he took in another deep breath and his cries became audible and loud.

"ANSWER ME, YOU FUCK!" Martin snatched his wrists and pulled them away so that he could see the hurt and the fear. That's what he got off on. That, and when his son finally gave up.

"I'll never disobey you again. I promise to God." Drake's hands trembled wildly in the man's grip as he whimpered and made eye contact. "I swear on my fucking life."

"Good, because if you _ever_ do it again, I _will_ fucking slit your god damn throat. You understand me?"

Again, Drake whimpered, then closed his eyes and continued to weep. "Yes, sir," his voice cracked.

Martin smirked at the sight of his brokenness. It had been so long since he'd last seen it. After Meelah's death, Drake always stayed so fucked up and depressed that he remained numb and indifferent to everything his father did to him. Sure, he would scream sometimes. But to have him sobbing his eyes out and sucking up to him - that took some creativity to get to these days. Martin almost forgot how much it got him off.

"Turn over." The man flipped Drake onto his stomach.

"Not now..." Drake whined with a high-pitched voice as Martin yanked Drake's sweatpants and boxers down his legs, revealing his bare bottom.

"Not now?" Martin removed his belt and pulled down his own pants and underwear. "NOT NOW?!"

Drake winced at the monstrous voice, which was right next to his ear. Martin then snatched him up by the hair, then tossed him so that his tummy was on the mattress again. He stepped in between the young man's legs, spreading them further apart as he did so. He spat on his hand, then lubricated himself as much as he possibly could, then he pulled Drake's cheeks apart and thrusted his already-erect penis deep inside without hesitation.

"Ahh! You're hurting me!"

"Shut up, you worthless faggot." Martin surprised his son by wrapping the belt around his neck, then putting the end through the buckle and pulling as tightly as possible.

Drake's eyes widened as he once again struggled for air. He clawed at his own throat, trying to rip the belt away. The way that his father had it, the young man could still breathe, but it wasn't very easily and it wasn't a lot of oxygen.

"Dad..." he tried, then started coughing. When Martin roughly pushed into him, he was forced forwards a bit, which therefore tightened the belt.

"I bet you're into some kinky shit like this when you fuck because you have daddy issues. You probably can't even reach an orgasm unless the girl's wearing a strap-on. Am I right? Is that how it was with Meelah? Did you take it up the ass with her?"

Drake could feel fresh tears dripping down his cheeks, but all he could do was gasp for air.

"Or that queer boyfriend of yours. Were you on your hands and knees with him behind you fucking your brains out? You probably called him daddy, didn't you? Let me hear how you did it."

Drake's lips trembled. He felt absolutely sick, and he didn't want to be here anymore. Where else could he run to, though? He had nowhere. He had no one. This is what he had to endure in order to keep Charlie, and although he despised it at the time, he always felt it was worth it each and every time that high started to hit.

"AAAHHHHHHHHHH!" Drake squeezed his eyes closed and his face contorted as a stream of boiling water glided down his back, starting from his shoulder blades.

"I WANNA FUCKING HEAR IT!"

"AAHHHHHH! AAAAHHHHHHHH!"

"TELL ME WHAT IT SOUNDED LIKE!"

Snot dripped from Drake's nose and he closed his eyes and whimpered. "Daddy..." The word disgusted him and made him cry harder when he heard it leave his lips.

"That's better." Martin gripped the belt with his less dominant hand, then spat on his right hand. After that, he placed the end of the belt tightly between his teeth so that it was still doing its job and he reached his saliva-covered hand around and grabbed hold of Drake's private member. "Keep going," Martin demanded, his voice muffled from the belt.

"Daddy..." Drake choked again.

"I need to hear more than that unless you want this water down your back again."

Drake let go of a sob. "Don't make me do this." Moments later: "GAAAAHHHHHHHH! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY!" He wept as he hopelessly spoke. "Okay. Okay." The boy sniffled. "What do you want me to say?"

"Just say to me what you say to that boy you were kissing in here last summer. Just pretend I'm him."

"I'm not gay," Drake tried.

"THEN BE CREATIVE!"

* * *

Drake's face contorted when he was tossed onto the floor like a used tissue. He immediately leaned on one side, and a puddle of vomit slipped out of his mouth. He'd tried to hold it back, and he'd managed to wait until Martin was done. It was all too much for him: the words he'd said to arouse and please his father, the fact that Martin kept holding out so that this awful nightmare was prolonged, the length of time it had taken Drake to cum. Martin wouldn't let him go until he did, though. To make Drake feel small, he'd said some inappropriate things about his sexual experiences with Audrey. This time, however, those didn't work. He'd then moved on to fantasies about fucking the corpse of Drake's dead girlfriend. This was when the waterworks had really started, but the young man's tears only turned Martin on even more. Somehow, Martin managed to ready himself for a second round before Drake had even finished the first, and then he was at it again. The power itself that he felt was orgasmic. His arm had gotten tired, so he'd forced Drake to masturbate while he thrusted into him. Again, he finished first, then tried to aid his son into climaxing while Drake begged him to stop. Finally, the boy managed to block everything out and get himself off. What should've taken three minutes somehow managed to take up the timespan of almost an hour. Was Charlie still worth this?

"Did you enjoy that just as much as I did?" He passed along an alligator grin as he buttoned his jeans.

Drake closed his eyes and turned away with shame and disgust as he sobbed.

"ANSWER ME, YOU FAGGOT!"

The boy screamed with fear when he was kicked. "Stop," he begged.

When Martin got his pants zipped and secured, he snatched his son to his feet and shoved him against the wall.

"Ah!"

"Tell me you liked it," the man demanded.

Fresh tears left the boy's eyes as his sobbing continued. "Don't." His voice shook.

"TELL ME YOU GOD DAMN LIKED IT!" Martin's palm smashed against the wall only inches from Drake's head until finally he punched it with his fist and left a large hole.

Drake flinched with each loud bang and turned his head when the man's hand went through the wall. His chin was grabbed violently, and he was forced to meet his dad's eyes. Martin's face was uncomfortably close.

"Maybe a third go will help you decide," he threatened.

"No, please," he begged, hanging his head. He only did this for a moment, for he was reminded that he was naked and that his father could easily have open season on him if he wanted. He opened his mouth, his lips and breath trembling.

Seeing that he was about to speak, Martin turned his head so that his ear was in front of the boy's lips. He waved him to go ahead. "Come on. Say it."

Warm tears rolled down the boy's cheeks as he whispered, "I liked it."

"A little louder. I couldn't hear you."

Drake swallowed, his Adam's apple visibly moving around in his throat as he did so. He cleared his throat, then swallowed again. Louder, he said, "I liked it."

"See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No, sir."

"Now you're gonna go take a shower, and then I'm gonna drive you over to your mother's. I don't want to hear any arguing or protesting. You're just gonna do as I say. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Leave the door unlocked. I'll find you something to wear." Martin stepped out of the way.

Drake shamefully wrapped his arms around his torso, but that did nothing to hide his nude body. Humiliated, he slowly walked across his bedroom, then made a left and went into the bathroom. He turned on the water, but he didn't wait for it to heat up. He stepped inside and slid the curtain closed behind him. Once he was alone, he really broke down. The young man bent his knees, then plopped down onto his bottom and pulled them to his chest. He covered his eyes with the bottom of his palms as he continued to sob.

It wasn't long before Martin entered the bathroom and caught him. Drake didn't know he had come in until the man had snatched the shower curtain to the side. The sudden loud noise scared him.

"What the fuck are you doing?! I told you to take a shower!" Martin dragged him onto his feet. "Do you need my help or something?! Are you three years old?!"

Drake shook his head and wiped away his tears, but they were immediately replaced with more. Martin just stood there and watched for a moment, then he grabbed the old-style camera that he'd set on top of the outfit for Drake.

"This is one of my proudest days, and I want something to remember it by."

Drake knew that the man was trying to take a picture of him. He moved his hands to cover his private area, but other than that, he was was pretty much exposed.

"Move your hands," the man commanded.

"Dad-"

"Drake..." Martin said threateningly, looking up from the screen and meeting his son's eyes with a glare. And that was all he had to say.

Terrified of what his punishment would be if he didn't comply, Drake obeyed his father. The look on his face was one of pure humiliation and shame and fear. He heard a _click_ as his picture was taken, and seconds later, a Polaroid slipped out of the front of the camera. Martin grabbed it, then shook it.

"Turn around."

Hesitantly, Drake did.

 _Click!_

The young man hung his head.

"Finish showering. You have twenty minutes. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

Drake thought he would leave after that, but he didn't. Instead, he sat down on the toilet lid and watched his son shower, occasionally snapping revealing photos every now and then. Drake managed to stop crying halfway through. He didn't want the man to have what he wanted anymore. He knew that the pictures were just for Martin anyway. No one else would view them. No one else would see his shame.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I'm a few chapters ahead in my writing, but editing has become such a chore, which is why it's taken so long for me to get this chapter out. I think I'm gonna start setting things up for the end of this story because I only got twelve hits for the last chapter even though it's been up for about two weeks. I just feel like no one is really into this, and I'm not really into this because the first story was semi-relatable and this one is just not, and therefore, I can't go into much description with things like I could in the first one. Even though I'm setting things up for the end, there are still gonna be several more chapters. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with it. You're all pretty great. Oh, and let me know what you guys wanna see happen. I've taken some of your thoughts from the first story and put them in some future chapters here. Please, leave a review so I feel better about my life.**


	11. Better Off Dead

Martin flipped on his blinker, then turned the steering wheel. "I'm gonna watch you to make sure you go inside. You're gonna stay with her tonight and spend Christmas with her tomorrow."

"Whatever," Drake mumbled. His arms were wrapped around his chest in a stand-off way. It was as if it disconnected him from the rest of the world and protected him from the evil ways of his father.

Unfortunately, it did not. Martin snatched a handful of his hair, then yanked him closer.

"Ah!"

"You're already starting to get mouthy with me again?"

"I'm not."

The man roughly shoved his head away. "That's what I fucking thought, you little bitch."

Again, Drake wrapped his arms around his torso to shield himself from the world. Martin slowed down the truck and pulled onto the grass. Fearful of what his father would do now, the young man pushed himself up against the passenger's side door and avoided making eye contact by hanging his head.

Martin looked through the trees and saw the front door of his ex wife's house. "Get out. I'm gonna watch from here to make sure you go in. I'm gonna call her tomorrow, and if she tells me that you didn't stay-" He turned and faced his son. "Well, you know what'll happen."

Drake tugged on the handle and pushed his door open. He started to slide out, but his father grabbed his arm.

"Hey, if I hear that you've upset her in anyway, I will fucking kill you. Got that?"

The young man held his glare for a moment, then he yanked his arm out of Martin's grip and slammed the door closed when he was away from him. He went around towards the front of the truck so that he could hop up onto the sidewalk, but as he was doing that, Martin pressed on the gas to express his anger about his son daring to ignore him. The sudden movement scared Drake and, out of fear, he fell onto his ass. His eyes widened when the engine revved louder before moving even closer in one swift motion. As some sort of useless protection, the young man lifted his legs and firmly planted his feet against the bumper, but that did nothing to aid him when the truck inched forwards, forcing his knees to fold up towards his head. Drake pushed himself back with his elbows. He could feel his skin stinging and tearing against the concrete, but his attention quickly moved back to the vehicle pushing onwards even more. Drake banged one of his heels against the bumper to tell his father to stop, but he wasn't even sure Martin heard him over the threatening sound that was coming from the engine. Maybe he did because it wasn't long after that the man turned off his truck.

The boy pushed himself to his feet and held up his arms with fury, but because his breathing was off and he was jumpy, it was obvious that this had done its job of giving him a good scare. He was clearly shaken by the ordeal. "THE FUCK?!" He banged his fists against the truck. He knew that he didn't have the strength to actually do any damage, but it felt good to reciprocate in some way.

Of course, Martin was angered by this, so once the driver's side door opened with a squeak, Drake bolted towards his mom's.

"You better run, you pussy!" Martin yelled after him.

Drake saw that his father wasn't chasing after him, so he slowed his pace when he was a good distance away. He walked down the sidewalk, then turned and crossed the grass. His old home was decorated with blue Christmas lights. His mother loved the blue ones because they looked like icicles dangling from the rooftop. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually celebrated a holiday. One thing the drugs had taken from him was his enthusiasm for holidays. When he was younger, he absolutely loved helping decorate the house and putting up the Christmas tree. Now it was like it wasn't even Christmas at all. He was living in his own little world where he couldn't remember what day it was, and when he saw the decorations around the city, he still didn't give a shit. They didn't spark any sort of Christmas spirit within him. He was just indifferent. He was dead inside.

Drake stepped up onto the porch. He started to grab the doorknob, but then he stopped and curled up his fingers to knock instead. Which was more appropriate for the situation? _Would it hurt Mom's feelings if I knocked as if I didn't belong here? But is it rude if I just barge in like I never left?_ After quickly mulling over which would be less awkward, Drake reached for the knob again, turned it, then pushed open the door.

The first thing he noticed was the aroma wafting from the kitchen. It smelled amazing. Drake's mouth was already watering, and his stomach growled. When was the last time he'd eaten again?

He could hear chattering and laughter coming from the living room. He pushed the door closed behind himself, then took a hesitant step forwards. "Mom?" he said a lot quieter than he meant to.

Now that he'd entered without knocking, he felt like it was impolite to go any further into the house without being invited. However, he couldn't stand here all fucking day. Drake took a couple more steps until he stood in the doorway of the kitchen, and that's when he saw her. Audrey was leaning over the island, her back to him as she reached for a glass of water. She wiped her forehead, sweating from the heat the oven caused by being on all day, then she tilted the glass over her mouth. She was so beautiful, and Drake felt bad about all the shit that he had put her through. Even from where he was standing, he could see several gray hairs atop her head that hadn't been there before. He wanted her to be happy. He thought the world of her. He wished that it was possible for her to forget about him somehow so that she didn't have to worry so much. Drake was only chaos, and she deserved better.

"Mom?" he said, and somehow, it was quieter than the first time.

Audrey froze for a moment. _Was that...? No, it couldn't be._ It was probably just her mind playing tricks on her. It wouldn't be the first time. But just in case, she turned around, and standing before her was her son. She wasn't sure how long she had stood there with shock on her face, but the sudden sound of shattering glass from the cup that she'd dropped pulled her out of her trance. Drake winced at the noise. Feeling as though he could've gone about announcing his arrival in a better way, he apologized and squatted down to pick up some of the larger glass shards that were laying amongst the water. However, his mother stopped him.

"Oh my God! Drake! I can't believe you're here!" She wrapped her arms around him so tightly that he couldn't breathe. Maybe if she held on tight enough, he wouldn't abandon her again.

Drake returned the hug. He rested his chin on her shoulder, then squeezed her tighter when he felt her body jerking as she cried happy tears. Because of all the commotion, the other family members came barging through the kitchen door. They stopped in their tracks when they saw Drake.

He knew he was a mess. Each time they see him, he always somehow has managed to lose even more weight than before, and this was still true now. He looked like a skeleton - like any day now he would just disappear. He looked sick and unhealthy. He had a couple wounds on his face from when Martin had kicked him in the mouth and slammed his face against the headboard of his bed. His lips were still scabbed over, his eye was still slightly swollen, and his temple still sported a gigantic bruise.

"I'm sorry," Drake said quietly. "I would've called first, but I broke my phone." He didn't know what to say to make the situation less awkward. "I would've come by sooner. I just..." He had nothing that passed for a reasonable excuse.

"It's okay," Audrey said, pulling away. She put her hands on his sunken cheeks and looked at him with watery eyes. "At least you're here now."

"Is it...is it okay if I stay the night?"

"Of course! You don't even have to ask. This will always be your home."

Walter stepped forwards. He placed his hand on Drake's shoulder, silently asking Audrey for permission to pull him away for a moment. When she let go, he wrapped his arms around the young man and patted his back. Drake bit his lip as the burns on his skin screamed with protest.

"I'm glad you're here," the man said, then he let go.

Drake met Mindy's eyes, and she gave him a reassuring nod to let him know that she was proud of him for coming.

"Are you staying for good?" Megan asked.

Drake hesitated, but he decided to be honest. Expressing his remorse, he said, "No, I'm just gonna be here today and tomorrow."

"Why don't we all have a seat in the living room," Audrey suggested. "We can all catch up."

"Actually, I'm gonna run to the bathroom."

Drake separated himself from the crowd and went upstairs. However, he passed by the bathroom door and went into his old bedroom. He turned to make sure he wasn't being followed, then he crossed the room and climbed up onto what used to be his loft. Kenzly had been right. His bed looked like it hadn't been slept in since he was last here. His eyes moved to the stack of CD cases that were next to his vinyl records. He picked the one second up from the bottom, glanced over his shoulder again, then unzipped it. Inside was a Violent Femmes CD that he had borrowed from Kenzly and failed to return. He flipped to the back of the case, and that's where he found what he was looking for: several unopened packages of his favorite cough medicine.

He really wanted to take them now - it would really help to ease the tension - but he knew that he was going to eat a big meal, and he didn't like to eat after taking the pills. Whether it was a fact or not, he felt like the food soaked up the drugs in his stomach and made the high less intense. It could all just be in his mind. Either way, he was going to throw up a bunch of food. It looked like there was enough here for him to take thirty-two pills now and thirty-two pills after dinner. That way, if he came down, he'd still be able to go back up. Drake grabbed four of the packages and slipped them inside of his wallet. He zipped his CD case back up and hid it in plain sight like it had been, then he turned and hopped off the bed.

"Jesus Christ! Megan! You scared the hell out of me!"

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing." But he felt like he should give her a better excuse. "I just wanted to see if it looked the same," he said. "If everything was still in place."

It was for the most part. The only thing that had changed was the stuff that belonged to Mindy. Also, it was a lot tidier now that there was a woman around.

Drake led his sister out of the room, walked down the hallway, then stopped at the bathroom door. "I'll be downstairs in a minute." He pushed open the door, then closed it behind himself.

Once inside, the young man turned towards the mirror. He rested his hands on either side of the sink, then gazed at his reflection. It was crazy how much his appearance had changed in the last few months. He used to have girls all over him. Now all he had were pimples and oily skin and bags. Even his bags had bags. The circles around his eyes were so dark that it looked like he was wearing make-up. God, what a mess everything was.

His eyes watered over. Drake hated looking at himself now. It wasn't the malnutrition or the bruises, although those did add to his feelings of powerlessness. It was his eyes. Even he could see just how dead they looked; he knew his family did as well. When he looked into them, he felt weak. Drake hung his head to avoid them, then he turned on the faucet and splashed water onto his face in hopes that it would mask his glazed eyes. After that, he quickly ripped open the packages of Triple C's and swallowed them down in groups of eight, giving himself at least two minutes in between each group to make sure that he wouldn't vomit.

When he got them all down and he was convinced that he wouldn't throw up, he turned and lifted the back of his shirt gently. "Oh, boy." His back was fucked. It looked really bad. He started to worry about infection and just the overall pain in general. He has to do something about this.

Drake opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. He turned and quietly descended the stairs.

"He looks like he's starving," Josh whispered, sitting in the living room with the rest of his family. "I wouldn't be surprised if this will be his first meal in a week."

"I just think it's important that we all don't make him feel like we're staring at him," Walter said. "We just need to be supportive."

"And let's not push the rehab thing," Audrey suggested.

Walter disagreed. "But he definitely needs it."

"I think that just pushes him away. We need to get him to trust us again before we throw that at him."

Mindy stayed silent throughout the planning process. She had ideas. She did know Druggie Drake more than the others after all. But _"He needs to make the choice to get clean on his own"_ isn't what this family wanted to hear right now, and they had done so much for her. She didn't want to take away their hope.

"There you go coddling him again," Walter said.

Audrey's eyes went wide. "Excuse me?!"

This was the fourth argument between the couple during this week alone. Mindy wasn't sure how much longer they would make it if things kept going like this.

She leaned over and whispered to Josh. "I'm gonna go check on the food." She stood after he gave her a nod, then she went into the kitchen.

Now was Drake's chance. He peeked around the corner, careful to remain hidden from the people in the living room. Mindy noticed him immediately. She gave him a look of confusion, and he responded by tilting his head towards the staircase, then disappearing behind the wall in the direction that he'd gestured towards. Curiously, Mindy followed, sneaking her way towards the stairs without being seen. Drake led her into the upstairs bathroom, then closed the door behind them.

"Are you kidding me?"

Drake turned and looked at her, then followed her eyes to the sink, where he saw his empty cough medicine packages. How could he have forgotten to toss them? He grabbed them quickly and stuffed them into his back pockets as if she hadn't seen them.

However, she had. "You're really doing this today? Here?!"

"Look, I just needed something to take the edge off, okay?" Drake tried to reason with her. "You can understand that, right?" he said, subtly tossing her own former drug problem in her face.

Mindy shook her head at his words, but she wasn't really surprised. There was nothing he could say that would surprise her anymore.

"What is this about?" she questioned.

"You know a little bit about first aid, right? I mean, you're dad's a doctor and all."

"I guess I know a little. Why?"

"I just have this little thing that might be kinda serious. I'm not really sure."

"Show me."

Drake pulled off his shirt, slowly as not to irritate his burns. Mindy watched as his shirt was lifted over his stomach. She could almost see every single rib sticking out of his skin, and she was sure his skin was pulled so tightly around them that one would penetrate right through it. Where his rib cage ended, his stomach curved inwards ever so slightly, and just seeing it gave her an uneasy, sickening feeling in her gut. There were several bruises on his abdomen, but she didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable, so she said nothing about her concerns. After his shirt was off, he turned around, showing her his bare back.

"Jesus Christ, Drake! What the hell happened?!"

"Nothing," the young man said. "I fell against a heater. That's all."

She knew that he was lying, and Drake knew that she knew that he was lying, but they both left it at that.

"You need to go to the hospital," she said.

"No, no hospital," he said over his shoulder. "Just...how do I fix it?"

"This is serious. You need to have this looked at."

"Look, I can't, okay? Please, just do what you can here, and don't say anything about it to anyone."

Mindy called him out on his lie. "If you got it falling against a heater, why does it matter if anyone finds out?"

"I just don't want my mom to worry."

"Does this have to do with you selling drugs? Did you get into some trouble?"

Drake quieted his voice for fear that someone was listening outside the door. "No. It was an accident, okay?" He turned to face her again.

"Why are you lying?" Mindy asked. "I mean, when we started hanging out, I always noticed that you were covered in bruises all the time. You can't blame it on the rough guys in your dad's neighborhood now that you're staying somewhere else. And you know what? I'm starting to think that those bullies never existed in the first place."

Drake had known that she would be concerned about his newest wounds, but he hadn't expected this interrogation. He had to come up with something fast. He had to keep any attention away from his father and divert it towards someone else before she figured everything out. He had to put the blame on someone else. "I wasn't lying about the guys in my dad's neighborhood. But after summer was over and I came back home, Meelah and I started making these plans and we borrowed a shitload of cash. Now Meelah's gone, the money's gone, and I am in a lot of shit, Mindy. I'm in a lot of shit."

"So what, you're selling drugs now to pay this guy off?"

"I have no choice."

"You always have a choice," she argued.

Drake turned again and gave her another glimpse at his back, pointing at it this time as best as he could. "Do you think this looks like I can just bail on him?" He faced her again. "He has threatened to kill me, Mindy. He almost cut off my toe and threw me off the rooftop of some building just to make a point. He's not someone I can just fuck with. This is serious shit I'm in."

"This is fucking insane, Drake." But she was no longer disagreeing. "How did this happen?"

"Meelah and I borrowed some money, and he was totally cool about it because he grew up with her. But now she's gone and all he has is me, and he couldn't give two shits about my life." Drake sat down on the edge of the tub and looked up at her, his eyes filled with shame. "I'm in a really fucked up situation, and I regret ever making a deal with this guy, but if I don't pay him off, I will be fucking dead. And I'm not saying that figuratively. I will actually be in a coffin in the ground dead. I mean, Jesus, ever since Meelah left me, I've just wanted to die, but I don't wanna go out according to his terms because he's not gonna make it fast and be done with it. Just fucking look what he did to my back when I made the littlest mistake. I am so scared."

Mindy could see his "sincerity." Just talking about it had his fingers shaking. To cover it, he ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the floor.

"And this will absolutely destroy my mom. She can't know about this. That's why I've stayed away. You know? It's like...like maybe if I stop coming around, she'll forget about me, and when this guy kills me, it won't hurt her as much."

"You know she will never forget about you," Mindy said, actually showing him sympathy. "Ever."

"I know. I'm just... I worry about her. Like, she's taking fucking Xanax?! And she's on the verge of a divorce. I didn't mean to mess up so much stuff when this all started. Charlie just seemed so innocent at first." Drake hid his face in his hands. "How did I get here? How did all this happen?"

Mindy watched him. She heard him sniffle and noticed that he was trying to keep himself from crying. She sighed, then sat down next to him and placed her arm onto his shoulder for comfort. Embarrassed, Drake turned his head towards the opposite direction and sniffled again, but Mindy wouldn't let him suffer alone. She pulled him back towards herself and wrapped her arms around him, surprised when Drake returned the hug without hesitation.

It felt good to hold her again. He nestled his head in the crook of her neck and could smell the familiar scent of her perfume. It was almost like being back home. It felt like this was where he was meant to be.

"I fucking miss you so much." His voice was filled with melancholy. He moved his head so that his forehead rested against hers. He lifted his hands and touched her cheek, gently sliding his thumb across her smooth skin and reminiscing about all of the good times they shared together.

Before he knew was he was doing, he leaned forwards and pushed his lips against hers, and for a moment, things didn't feel so terrible anymore. But only for a moment, for she pulled away the second her shock wore off.

"What are you doing?"

"I..." His face went red hot with embarrassment. He immediately stood. "I'm sorry." He grabbed his shirt and was about to put it over his head.

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized again. "It didn't mean anything."

Mindy could tell by his sudden change in behavior that he was lying. On the contrary, it had meant everything.

"So what, now that I'm over you, you decide you're in love with me?" she said. "But back when we were together, you did nothing but lie to me and use me?"

"I'm not trying to take you away from Josh, but Mindy, I did - I do - love you, and I'm so happy that he is stepping up in my place to help raise that kid. You deserve the world, and I treated you like shit. Love is just not that simple, but I do love you."

"You didn't love me, Drake. You loved the idea of not being alone. You loved the fantasy of being with someone who loved Charlie as much as you did. You loved having someone around who understood you and looked up to you. It was all about you. You only love yourself."

"I..." He wanted to protest, but he didn't know how. What was he supposed to say to that? When he was around her, it felt a lot like love. He was sure of it. Drake finished putting on his shirt by slipping his arms through the sleeve holes and gently sliding it down his torso. "I'm sorry I was always such a prick to you."

She stopped him when she saw him reach for the doorknob. "Wait. Don't leave." She stood, then opened the medicine cabinet above the sink. "At least let me take another look at your back and see what I can do."

Hesitantly, Drake stepped away from the door. He sat on the edge of the tub once more and removed his shirt yet again. He watched as she rifled through the cabinet. "Do you think it'll be okay? Like, I know it's bad. But I can't afford not to sell for that guy this weekend, and if I end up in the hospital for several days, I'll be in worse shape after I leave than when I went in."

"I think he should understand if you had to go to the hospital."

"He won't. He doesn't give a shit. This already happened once before."

Mindy closed the cabinet and moved towards him. She held some sort of cream and gauze. "This is gonna suck," she said, turning on the shower, "but I need to make sure it's clean before I wrap it."

Drake turned so that she had better access to his back. She grabbed a washcloth and some soap, then hesitantly started dabbing at his skin.

"Ah! Fuck!"

She immediately stopped. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he said, gripping the edge of the tub so tightly that his knuckles were white. "I'm okay."

"I'll try to be as fast as I can."

Drake hung his head and squeezed his eyes closed. His cheeks were full of air that he slowly blew out of his mouth. Occasional noises would leave his lips, for the rag felt rough rubbing against his sensitive skin.

When she was finally done, he took in a breath of air. "While you have the gauze out, can you wrap my leg and give my back a break for a minute?"

"What's wrong with your leg?" She cleaned the washcloth off under the running water.

"It's a long story."

"Which leg is it?" When Drake pointed it out, she said, "Alright, roll up the pant leg for me."

"Uh, it's actually on my thigh. I'm gonna have to take my pants off if you're comfortable with that."

She nodded her okay, so he stood up and slipped off his shoes. At the same time, he unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Next, Drake pushed them down his legs and kicked them to the side. Mindy's eyes immediately moved to the make-shift wrap Drake has made from what looked like some girl's shirt. She could only tell this by the side that wasn't covered in blood.

"Jesus, Drake, what happened?" She got onto her knees in front of him to examine it closer.

"Does it look infected?" he asked with fear.

"I've gotta get this thing off first so I can actually see the wound."

Unbeknownst to the two in the bathroom, Josh was making his way down the hall in search of his girlfriend who had mysteriously disappeared. When he reached the bathroom, he slowed down, for he could clearly hear Drake inside moaning and groaning.

His brother's words were slightly muffled through the wooden door. "Oh, God! Oh, shit! Oh, fuck!"

And then he heard Mindy's voice coming from the same room.

"You're doing great. Keep doing that. I'm almost finished. Just keep it up."

Josh's eyes went wide with shock. _I'm almost finished?! Just keep it up?! Are they having sex?!_ Without thinking, the young man turned the doorknob and barge into the bathroom. His jaw dropped at the sight before him. As far as he could tell, Drake was naked, and Mindy was on her knees in front of the standing boy, her head at crotch-level. Drake's eyes were squeezed closed tightly, and his face was pointed towards the ceiling. Again, he let go of a groan.

"Aw, Jesus Christ!"

"What is going on in here?!" Josh exclaimed, earning a surprised look from his step-brother and girlfriend.

"Josh!" Drake exclaimed, jumping out of his skin. "You fucking scared the hell out of me! Jesus!"

Mindy turned and looked at him then, and when she did this, Josh was now able to see that his brother was, in fact, wearing boxers, and Mindy was instead tending to a large cut on his thigh.

"What is going on?" Josh asked again.

"Mindy was just helping me," Drake said. "I got burned pretty badly. And I have this cut on my leg."

"And you thought it was a smart idea to ask Mindy to fix you up while you stand there half-naked? After everything that happened last summer?"

"I..." Drake looked to the girl for guidance, but she was just as clueless. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking," he said.

"I'm not saying I don't ever wanna see you two speaking to each other. I mean, you kinda have to with the baby and all. But I just think this was a little too much. You know, taking into account the history you two share. Mindy's my girlfriend, Drake." He wasn't rude, but he was firm.

"Right. Of course." Drake shook his head as if to express that he hadn't been thinking clearly. "You're right. I should've asked for your help instead. I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries."

"No harm done," Josh said, now moving on to the concern he had for his brother. "So what happened to your leg?"

"I just had a bit of an accident." Drake shrugged it off. "I don't want Mom to know. I don't want her to overreact," he said, motioning for him to close the door.

"Mindy, you wanna go see if they need any help in the kitchen?" Josh said.

"Sure." She passed the gauze and ointment to boyfriend, and as she walked by, she gave him a quick peck on the lips, then disappeared out the door.

Drake was bothered by their kiss, but he pretended that it didn't affect him. He apologized again. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to-"

"It's okay," Josh said. "I don't mean to be so possessive over her. It's just...well, it's gonna take a while for you to gain my trust back to be honest."

"I understand. Take as long as you need. I'm just glad you don't hate me anymore."

"Well, you're my brother. And I did hate you for a while there, but I never meant to shut you out and make you feel so alone that you would..." He couldn't even get himself to say the words.

"I won't try to kill myself again," Drake vowed. At least he was able to offer a little bit of comfort to the family that he put through hell. "It was a mistake."

Although he wanted to die, even still, he couldn't handle knowing what it would do to everyone else. They had all been absolutely heartbroken when it had happened. Audrey had cried for weeks. Walter had yelled at him for almost an hour, then he'd broken down and sobbed while squeezing his step-son tightly and apologizing over and over. Megan never left her room and fell into a bit of a depression herself. Josh and Drake weren't quick to mend their relationship, but this is the moment that it'd started to get better.

"I'm glad to hear that," Josh said. "I know things have been hard on you."

Drake shook his head. "We don't have to talk about that." He didn't want to think about Meelah or else he would start crying.

"Well, let me finish what Mindy started." Josh shut the door like Drake had asked him to do earlier.

"I think she's done with my leg. She was just gonna put something on my back."

The young man nodded, then moved closer to his brother, who turned around. "Oh, my God! What happened?!"

"I fell against a heater. Please, don't tell Mom."

"This looks really bad."

"I know," Drake said. "Mindy thinks it'll be okay, though."

"How on earth did you fall against a heater?" Josh twisted the cap off of the tube of ointment.

Drake decided to go for something believable since his brother wasn't skeptical. "I was high," he said with mock shame. "And I tripped."

"Jesus!" Josh squirted some of the cream onto two of his fingertips. "Okay, this might sting a little."

Drake hissed the second his burns were touched. "Son of a bitch!" he whispered.

"Sorry," Josh said, truly feeling guilty.

* * *

Drake stepped into the kitchen, fixing his shirt as he did so. He was thankful that he could move better now that a gauze was covering his burns. It still hurt like hell, but he could deal with it now that the blisters weren't rubbing against the cloth of his tee.

"Need any help?" he asked his mother in a soft voice.

"Oh, no, sweetie. I've got this. You just relax and enjoy spending time with everyone."

Instead of joining the group that was chatting away in the living room, Drake hopped onto the counter next to where his mother was spreading icing atop a cake. He was so hungry, and when his stomach growled, he could no longer hide his desperation. "How long until it's all done?"

"Not long."

She smacked Drake's hand when he scooped some icing up with his finger, then she met his eyes and smiled. He was smiling, too, as he put his finger in his mouth.

"Now I remember why I always had to hide your birthday cake from you," Audrey said.

"Well, you know me. Cake is my favorite food group."

"You should've seen Megan's birthday cake. It was huge. It was hot pink with zebra stripes."

"Jesus, I'm sorry I missed it." Drake watched as Audrey crushed up several Oreo cookies in her hands, then sprinkled the crumbs over the cream cheese icing. "I hope I didn't ruin her birthday too much."

Audrey wasn't sure how to respond. Of course he'd ruined it. He'd overdosed and ended up in the hospital. No one was really in a celebratory mood after that. However, she was just happy that he was still alive.

Drake picked up on her silence and looked down at his lap. He had no idea how to talk to her anymore - not after everything that he'd put her through. The only thing fitting was an apology, but he wasn't going to say sorry because what's the point if he had no intention to change?

 _Ding dong!_

Audrey's brows furrowed. She wiped her hands off on a washcloth. "I wonder who that could be." She then exited the kitchen and went towards the front door, but her husband had already beat her to it.

"Martin!" Walter said. "It's good to see you!"

Drake's eyes went wide and he turned his head towards the kitchen doorway so that he could hear better. _What the fuck is Dad doing here?!_

"I ran into him at Walmart this morning," the man explained to his wife, who was just as shocked as Drake. "And Megan thought it would be a good idea for everyone to spend Christmas Eve together, so I invited him over for dinner."

"And I'm just now hearing about this?" It was obvious that she wasn't too keen about this, but she wasn't being rude.

"I declined at first," Martin said. "I didn't want to impose, but your husband insisted."

"Dad!" Megan said, running towards him. She grabbed him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Hey, kiddo."

"You're spending Christmas Eve with us this year?"

Martin looked up at Audrey, just as eager for an answer as Megan was. She didn't want to be the bad guy. She didn't want to send him out the door, especially not now that her daughter was so excited to see him, so she nodded her head, too speechless to respond any other way. Megan cheered, then grabbed her dad's hand and dragged him into the living room.

"What the hell?!" Audrey sharply whispered to her husband.

"What? I thought it would be a good idea."

"To invite my ex husband to dinner?!"

"You two have been getting along a lot better now. I mean, at least you're civil with each other. After everything that's been going on, I thought that this would really bring Megan out of the slump she's been in."

Audrey shook her head with disbelief, then entered the kitchen with Walter in tow.

"Audrey, come on."

Drake averted his eyes when his mother looked at him. He knew what she was thinking. She was thinking about the affair...how he felt now that they were together under one roof...whether or not he would let the truth spill. Uncomfortable with everything that was going on, Drake slid off of the counter with the intent to find a place where he could be alone for a while. Instead, the nausea caused by the thirty-two pills that were inside of him was overwhelming. He was just barely able to lean over the trash can in time as vomit spewed from his lips.

"Oh my God!" Audrey moved towards him with the washcloth in her hand. "Are you alright?!"

Drake clutched his empty stomach, then sniffled, for snot had started dripping from his nose. The commotion had caused the group from the living room to migrate towards the noise. They found Drake hanging his head over the garbage can with saliva trailing from his lips. The young man remained there for a moment, for he was unsure whether or not another round would come up.

Audrey wiped his mouth off, concerned about what had just happened. "Are you sick?" she asked, looking into the trash can at what had just come out of her son. "Is that blood?" Her face was immediately filled with worry, but then her eyes met Mindy's, and the young woman shook her head to let her know that, on the contrary, Drake was feeling just fine at the moment.

The boy cleared his throat and straightened. Despite the fact that every single person in the room now knew why he had puked, he still went with a lie. "I ate some bad Chinese earlier."

Uncomfortable with the way he was being looked at, Drake excused himself and left the kitchen. He opened the back door, then sat down on the patio chair. The sky was dark. He liked it that way. He felt more hidden. His high was starting to hit. He could feel it. He felt restless and numb. He rubbed at his face, but he wasn't sure why. He couldn't get himself to stop moving. It was normal, though.

Drake heard the door open, so to hide the fact that he had come out here to get through the pre-high, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit up.

"What the hell kind of stunt was that?!" It was just Martin. "You're pissed that I made you come, so you're trying to sabotage everything?"

"It wasn't a stunt."

"I specifically told you not to get high today."

"Well, I guess I'm just like you then, huh?"

"You're nothing like me."

"Are you telling me that you're not drunk right now?"

"I'm not. Haven't drank anything all day."

"Well, maybe you're a better man than me," Drake said, exhaling a breath of smoke.

"Don't be a jackass."

"You can't just throw me into a new situation and expect me to get through it without being high."

"New?! What the hell are you talking about? This isn't new. This is your home. This is your mother. This is where you spent your whole life before you started acting like a spoiled little bitch."

"You know what, Dad? I really don't need to hear another lecture right now, so you can just shove it up your ass."

 _Smack!_

The young man turned his head with surprise. He gently touched his stinging cheek. He hadn't expected the man to do anything - not here anyways. That's why he'd dared to speak. He should've known better.

Martin was pissed, and it was obvious by the stiff finger he held in Drake's face and the way he clenched his teeth and spat out his words when he spoke. "Don't you forget who the fuck you're talking to." And with that, he disappeared inside, unaware that his daughter had been peeking through the blinds the entire time.

"Fuck's sake," Drake whispered to himself, his heart pounding out of his chest and his pride wounded.

"Drake?"

The young man looked over at his little sister, then quickly put his hand down to hide what had just taken place. "Yeah, what's up?" He put the cigarette to his lips, then inhaled.

"What was that about?"

"What?" He furrowed his brows innocently.

"Why did Dad hit you?"

Drake opened his mouth to make up some sort of lie about how she'd seen it wrong, but he couldn't come up with one that would make sense without being obvious about the fact that he was high. He sighed when she took a seat in the chair next to him. "I said something I shouldn't have."

"What did you say?"

"It doesn't matter."

"He still hits you a lot? Even though you're older?"

Drake had the ability to take revenge on Martin by turning his daughter against him and making her hate him forever, but he was mature enough to understand that that would affect Megan a lot more than it would Martin. "Well, I don't really see him a lot. Just like I don't see Mom a lot."

"I wish he was nicer to you," she said. "Sometimes I get so mad when I think about it."

Drake put his cigarette out and pulled her closer to him at the same time. "Don't do that. He loves you so much."

"But what about you?"

"He loves me," Drake assured. "I mean, we always butt heads and we may never really get along, but he still loves me."

"But remember when he said-"

"He says a lot of things that he doesn't mean when he's drunk. You know that."

"He doesn't look drunk today," Megan argued.

"Yeah, well, sometimes he says things that he doesn't mean when he's sober, too." Drake looked at her when she pulled out of his embrace. "We all do. It's just human nature to blow up when we get mad."

"Why is he mad at you?"

The young man hesitated then. He didn't want to lie to her - not while they were having a nice sibling moment that hardly ever happened - but maybe it's not appropriate to tell an twelve-year-old that you're on drugs. Did it really matter anymore, though? She already knew. Shit, everyone inside knew. It would probably hurt her feelings more at this point if he lied to her. "Because I showed up high. And he just wanted today to be perfect and stress-free for you and for Mom." Since Megan went silent after this, he added, "I never meant to ruin things. I wasn't going to come, but-"

"We want you here. We miss you."

Drake forced a smile, and at that moment, the backdoor opened and Audrey peeped her head out, already in denial about what had just taken place in the kitchen.

"The food's ready. Everyone's waiting for you two inside."

Drake stood, so his sister followed, then led him into the dining room. It was strange that he felt like he had to be guided around his own house as if he was a guest here. Mindy was helping Josh carry the last couple of dishes, and they placed them onto the table.

"That's it," Josh said to his step-mother.

Walter pulled out a chair at the end of the table, and Audrey nodded at him and sat down in it. He took a seat in the chair next to her. Everyone else followed. Josh and Mindy sat next to each other on one side, so Megan seated herself next to Walter, leaving Drake with the end seat opposite his mother. To make himself look good in front of his ex wife, Martin chose to pull his chair up in between Megan and Drake.

"Let's say the blessing," Audrey said, then she bowed her head and closed her eyes.

The others followed her directions. Drake was hesitant for a moment - funny, they had never said any blessings before - but he bowed his head and closed his eyes anyway. She prayed over the food and said that she was thankful that they were all able to be here. She mentioned Drake by name, which made him feel like there was a spotlight on him, but when everyone said "Amen," no one was looking at him - at least, not until Audrey spoke again.

"Drake, do you wanna try this corn casserole Mindy made for us this year?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Everyone loves it. I've actually been making it every Friday since I moved in."

The young man gave her a fake smile as he took the offered bowl and scooped some onto his plate. Everyone passed around the dishes, piling their plates with yummy squash, ham, deviled eggs, cranberry sauce, yams, corn, green beans, and more. Once everything settled down, they all began eating.

"Mmm, Mindy, this casserole is delicious!" Martin said.

Drake nodded to be nice. It _was_ great. He just wasn't in a social mood and didn't know what to say. It was only a matter of time before everyone's patience wore off and he was bombarded with questions. He dreaded this.

Mindy grinned and thanked them.

As an attempt to be subtle, Audrey asked Josh and Mindy about the long lines at the grocery store and asked Megan about her boyfriend, and then she started on Drake, just like expected.

"So where have you been staying?" she said with nonchalance.

"At a friend's," he answered shortly, looking down at his food.

"Is it someone I know?"

"No." Drake was taken by surprised when Martin discreetly kicked his shin, silently demanding that he be more polite. "No, ma'am."

"How long have you known him?"

"Um, a while." To divert the attention away from himself, he said, "Who made the mac and cheese? It's amazing."

"Me," Megan said proudly.

"You did awesome."

Audrey didn't let up on her interrogation. "How long?"

Drake scooped another spoonful of macaroni into his mouth so that he'd have longer to come up with a good response. "Hmm?"

"How long have you known your friend?"

Swallow. Still nothing. Gotta say something, though. "A couple years."

"A couple years?" It was obvious that she was skeptical. "And I've never heard about him?"

Drake didn't know what to say to that, but Walter didn't give him time to respond anyway.

"How did you get that bruise?"

He was referring to the one on his temple. It was still super dark in color, but the swelling was starting to go down, and he was able to open his eye normally again.

"I fell. No big deal."

"You fell?" He, too, seemed doubtful of him.

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

Drake cleared his throat uncomfortably, then gulped down the food that was inside of his mouth and wiped his lips off with a napkin. "Can I be excused? I have to go to the bathroom."

Without waiting for a response, he scooted his chair backwards, then stood and made his way upstairs. He made a quick detour towards his bedroom, grabbed what was left of his pills, then locked himself inside of the bathroom. Once there, he started ripping away at the packages fervently. He took four pills, then four more, then four more, then four more. _Come on. Halfway there. Just one more box._ He clutched his stomach and swallowed down the vomit that was sliding up his throat. He started in on the third plastic package, but immediately stopped when he heard a knock at the door.

"Drake, sweetie?" It was Audrey.

Had she heard him tearing open the packages? Had she heard his heavy breathing and him constantly spitting into the toilet as he stood over the bowl and drooled?

"We didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. We just worry, you know?" She had guilt in her voice. "Come back down and eat with us."

"Give me a second," he called innocently from the other side of the door. He listened for her footsteps, and when he was sure that she was gone, he continued opening his pills.

* * *

"There you are," Martin said when he saw his son come down the last step and turn the corner. "Did you get lost up there?"

Audrey whirled around at the mention of Drake, then motioned for him to sit down.

"Sorry, I had Taco Bell a little while ago and it's completely messing with my stomach," he said, too high to remember that he'd used Chinese food as his excuse for puking earlier.

No one called him out because they feared that he would just run away and take more pills again. They all knew what he had been doing in the bathroom. Now they were all too on edge to even ask how his day was without wondering if he would feel on the spot and need to go re-up.

When Drake sat down, it was clear to him that his father was pissed, but he was too high to give a shit right now.

When the others were distracted by Josh bringing up how he had convinced Helen to let him have the holidays off from work, Mindy whispered to Drake, "I tried to text you. You've been in the bathroom for thirty minutes." She knew how easy it was to lose track of time on Triple C's.

"Shit, have I? My phone's broken. It's completely shattered."

"What happened to your phone?" Audrey said, for Drake had been talking a lot louder than he'd thought.

"I dropped it."

"When?"

If he lied, he'd have an excuse as to why he never answered their phone calls. "A while ago." It was vague enough that it could make up for a lot of the times that he'd ignored them. Thank God that Charlie was there to get him through these tough questions.

* * *

Drake's head shot up and his eyes popped open when he felt both Martin and Mindy stomp on both of his feet at the same time. The pills had really hit harder than he'd expected - probably because he hadn't used in a while. Apparently he'd been nodding out over his barely-eaten plate of food. He could faintly recall a vague hallucination about looking for Charlie in the pregnancy test aisle of Walmart.

"Hmm?" Drake asked, his eyelids hanging low over his pupils.

"I said you've hardly touched your food," Audrey repeated.

"Oh, I'mnotthat hungry."

Jesus, even his words were slurring. He was like a train wreck, and Mindy couldn't look away. He seemed to do or say something every few minutes to further demonstrate just how high he was, and each time, Mindy felt her insides cringing up. She wanted to shake him until he was sober, but unfortunately, that wasn't actually a thing. If he was just going to do all this, why had he even bothered to show up?

"This is getting ridiculous," Walter said, finally outraged enough to speak up. "Drake, I think it's time that you leave."

"What?" Audrey turned to him. "He's not leaving."

"Look at him. He's so messed up that he keeps falling asleep at the dinner table. Any minute now, his face is gonna fall into his plate. Just you watch."

How many times had he disappeared into some Charlie hallucination? Was this not the first time that they had engaged him in a conversation to hide the fact that he was nodding off?

"Last time, I went with your decision and made him leave. Look what happened." She motioned towards her drug-addicted son.

"So what? You're gonna let him get high in your home? In front of Megan? You might as well just spoon-feed him the drugs yourself."

Uncomfortable with the argument he had started without meaning to, Drake slid his chair backwards. "I should go."

"That'd be best." Walter nodded.

Audrey held up her hand towards him and firmly said, " _Sit_ ," then she looked at her husband again. "So what if it was Josh? Are you telling me that you would just give up on him? You'd just kick him to the curb to fend for himself on the streets?"

"Don't do this," Drake begged guiltily, but neither were listening. "Please, don't do this."

"Well, that simply would not happen," Walter said, "because I raised my son well enough to know better than to touch that stuff."

"And I didn't?!" Audrey scoffed.

Martin spoke up, purposely stirring the pot. "Are you saying that she's a bad mother?" He stuck up for his ex wife because he loved her.

"Dad, stop," Drake tried.

"This is a conversation between Audrey and I," Walter said.

"Well, it involves my son, so now I'm included whether you like it or not."

Drake looked over at his sister, who had tears in her eyes that she was somehow able to keep from falling. The young man silently mouthed an apology to her. He felt awful for ruining everything. He hadn't meant for this to happen.

"Well, Drake probably learned what he knows from you," Walter said bitterly. "You're an alcoholic after all."

Those were fighting words. Drake knew the second he heard them that Martin was about to blow. To calm him down and remind him that his daughter was watching, he slipped his hand underneath the table and placed it on top of his father's knee. This helped Martin to compose his thoughts.

"You know what? I will be the first to admit that I've had an ongoing drinking problem for a while now, and because of that, I can relate to my son on a personal level. What he needs is love and support - not your constant hard ass always putting him down."

"I'm just doing what I feel is best."

"Yeah, well, he's not your son, so maybe you should fuck off."

The hurt on Walter's face was clear, and this had caught him off guard. When he finally opened his mouth, he said, "I think it's time for you to leave, and you can take your son with you."

"Guys, come on. It's Christmas Eve," Audrey said, now in tears. "Let's stop fighting and just act like a family for once. All I wanted was for everyone to be here together and have a good time."

Drake looked to Mindy for guidance. Mindy had the answers to everything, and she could tell him what would be best. She was like his babysitter, and whether she liked it or not, she was stuck with that position. Mindy nodded her head upwards, silently telling him to go upstairs. That was pretty smart. He was fucking off just enough to please Walter, but he wasn't completely leaving, so Audrey wouldn't get too upset. His absence would give everyone time to calm down.

Just as everyone was settling in an uncomfortable silence after the fight, Drake stood. "I'm gonna go upstairs and call it a night."

"Don't leave," his mother said.

"I'm really tired," he replied, leaving anyway. Before he did so, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and thanked her for the meal.

He made his way upstairs and heard her say something passive-aggressively to her husband on his way. His vision was pretty blurry, so he was careful not to trip on the steps. He walked all the way to the end of the hall, then opened the door to his old room.

* * *

 _ **Losing a whole year**_  
 _ **Losing a whole year**_  
 _ **I remember you and me used to spend**_  
 _ **The whole goddamned day in bed**_  
 _ **Losing a whole year**_  
 _ **Hiding in your room we'd lay like dogs**_  
 _ **And the phone would ring like a joke that's left unsaid**_  
 _ **Losing a whole year**_

Since Drake didn't have his journal with him, he was sitting on the floor in front of the computer desk and going through all of the drawers. He wasn't sure why he was always attracted to sitting on the floor when he was with Charlie. It just felt better somehow to be so small, even in something so tiny and enclosed as a bedroom. Everything towered over him: the desk, the couch, the dressers, the windows, the door knob - yet it was all still in his reach even though he was so short.

 _ **Rich daddy left you with a parachute**_  
 _ **Your voice sounds like money and your face is cute**_  
 _ **But your daddy left you with no love**_  
 _ **You touch everything with a velvet glove and**_  
 _ **Now you wanna try your life of sin**_  
 _ **You wanna be down with the down and in**_  
 _ **Always copping my truths**_  
 _ **I kinda get the feeling like I'm being used  
**_ _ **And now I realize that you never heard  
**_ _ **One goddamned word I ever said  
**_ _ **Losing a whole year  
**_ _ **Losing a whole year**_

One of his favorite past times that he enjoyed doing when he wasn't journaling or watching a trippy movie was exploring. Even at his dad's, he would pull open the same drawers, and there would be nothing new in there, but it felt like he was finding something new or seeing something in a new way somehow. If he still got that feeling after all the Charlie trips he'd experienced at Martin's house, then plundering here would be even better, for things had probably changed since he'd last been here.

 _ **I took your stuff and put it in the basement**_  
 _ **When I found out what the smile on you face meant**_  
 _ **I seen you pop that check big**_  
 _ **Craning your neck at the car wreck**_  
 _ **And it always seems that the juice used to flow**_  
 _ **In the car, in the kitchen you were good to go**_  
 _ **Now we're stuck with the tube**_  
 _ **A sink full of dishes and some aqua lube**_  
 _ **And I remember you and me used to spend**_  
 _ **The whole goddamned day in bed**_  
 _ **Losing a whole year**_

Drake found a stapler in the second drawer that he'd looked through. He grabbed one of the sheets of paper that were next to him, then pressed the stapler against it. He wasn't stapling anything to it, nor was he bending the paper in any way. He was literally just wasting staples. At first, he thought that maybe he could make a picture out of the little metal pieces, but he couldn't get the stapler to reach the middle of the paper, so he gave up on that idea, then reached his hand inside of the drawer again and scooted things around. A bright yellow color attracted him, so he pulled out a hi-lighter next. He started scribbling on the paper, and halfway through, he decided that he actually wanted to draw something. He reached into the drawer again and picked up the pink hi-lighter. This one looked a lot better on the eyes when he drew with it. Charlie was really liking these neon colors.

"What...the hell is going on?" Mindy said quietly.

Drake turned and saw her approaching. Josh was over by the radio. He hadn't even noticed the boy turn it off. Drake's eyes moved to the mess around him. He was surrounded by an assortment of random items that had somehow attracted his attention and had meant something to him at some point during the last...how long had he been sitting here? He'd only made it through two drawers. Maybe an hour or so.

"I was just..." Drake collected everything back up and tossed it all back inside a drawer, including his 'artwork.' _This is such a high thing to do. Very subtle, Drake._ "...looking for a pencil," he finally managed.

Josh furrowed his brows skeptically, then reached over Drake's head and grabbed a pencil out of the cup that was on the desk. "We've always kept our pencils here, though. You knew that."

"Right." Drake pushed himself up, but he didn't take the pencil. He didn't even notice that his brother was holding it out to him. Instead, he went over to the stereo and turned it on again.

 ** _If it's not the defense then your on the attack_**  
 ** _When you start talking I hear the Prozac_**  
 ** _Convinced you found your place_**  
 ** _With the pierced queer teens in cyberspace_**  
 ** _When you were yourself there was tasting sweet_**  
 ** _Sours into a routine deceit_**  
 ** _Well this drama is a bore_**  
 ** _And I don't wanna play no more_**  
 ** _Why, why_**  
 ** _Why, why_**  
 ** _Losing a whole year_**  
 ** _I remember you and me used to spend_**  
 ** _The whole goddamned day in bed_**

Mindy couldn't shake the feeling that Drake heard the lyrics and thought of her in some way. To see if Josh felt the same way, she glanced over at her boyfriend, who noticed that Drake was wearing a pair of Mindy's PJ pants without even asking to borrow them.

Drake turned to them. "You wanna play MarioKart?"

"No." Josh's eyes narrowed. "We're going to sleep."

"Oh! Sorry." The young man turned the music back off. "I didn't realize how late it was." After looking at the clock, he was surprised that his high had felt _this_ good for _this_ long.

As Josh and Mindy crawled into bed together, Drake climbed the ladder to his loft and plopped down onto the mattress. He could hear the couple kiss goodnight and say their _I love you's_ , and he felt himself being overcome with jealousy, but he kept quiet and wrapped himself up underneath the comforter.

* * *

Audrey quietly snuck down the stairs with a couple wrapped boxes in her hand. She wished that she would've gotten Walter to help her before he left to grab one last-minute gift. It was already one in the morning. Hopefully, her husband would have time to put together the trampoline they had gotten for Megan before everyone woke up. The kids always liked to get up at five at the latest. Josh would always set his clock and then proceed to wake the entire house up, even at the age of eighteen. He was always the first one up.

Audrey made her way across the living room, then she bent over in front of the Christmas tree and gently dropped the presents there. Once they were all here, she would make it look nice and neat even though the living room would be absolutely destroyed come tomorrow morning. Audrey straightened, and just as she turned to go back upstairs, she heard the soft strumming of a guitar. She moved her head towards the window and saw Drake sitting out back in one of the patio chairs. _Why is he still up? He's supposed to be in bed asleep._ The woman opened the backdoor, but she noticed that her son didn't hear because he was starting to sing.

 _ **All this talk of getting old**_  
 _ **It's getting me down my love**_  
 _ **Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown**_  
 _ **This time I'm comin' down**_

She frowned when she heard the sadness in his voice, but she kept quiet. She hadn't seen her son in over a month, and she worried about him. She never had any idea where he was, who he was with, what he was doing, or how he was feeling. She was never even sure if he was alive or not. Drake didn't seem too keen on opening up when he'd first gotten here, and by dinner time, it was just impossible, for he was nodding out every five seconds. Listening to him sing was the only way that she could have any sort of idea how he was feeling and what was going on in his life, so she closed the door behind her silently, but stayed where she was in case she had already caused too much noise.

 ** _And I hope you're thinking of me_**  
 ** _As you lay down on your side_**  
 ** _Now the drugs don't work_**  
 ** _They just make you worse_**  
 ** _But I know I'll see your face again_**

 ** _Now the drugs don't work_**  
 ** _They just make you worse_**  
 ** _But I know I'll see your face again_**

Audrey was absolutely heartbroken. She knew immediately that the song was directed towards Drake's deceased girlfriend Meelah. It was crushing that someone so young had to go through such a big loss. On top of that, she knew that her son blamed himself for it. Because of the drugs, Drake had brought a lot of things upon himself: getting kicked out, losing Josh's trust, not being allowed to drive anyone's vehicles, not being trusted with a loan when he needed cash. And those were just the things that Audrey knew about. But this wasn't one of them.

She'd figured it out. She knew that Meelah had been clean for a while, and when she'd gotten back with Drake, he, too, sobered up. Audrey could remember how proud she had been. Everyone had been so joyous back then. The house was always filled with laughter and smiles and jokes. Even Drake had seemed happy.

Therefore, it didn't exactly make sense that Meelah would just relapse out of nowhere. Or maybe it did. Drug addiction was a fickle thing that Audrey knew she would never fully be able to wrap her head around. What made the most sense was the possibility that Drake had pushed his girlfriend into using - pushed her into taking that inhale that had ultimately ended her life. That's why he blamed himself. That was her theory anyway.

 ** _But I know I'm on a losing streak_**  
 ** _'Cause I passed down my old street_**  
 ** _And if you wanna show, then just let me know_**  
 ** _And I'll sing in your ear again_**

 ** _Now the drugs don't work_**  
 ** _They just make you worse_**  
 ** _But I know I'll see your face again_**

 ** _'Cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, I'm coming, too_**  
 ** _Just like you said, you leave my life, I'm better off dead_**

With those words, Audrey could just barely hear the young man's voice crack. She started crossing the grass and making her way over to her son. He still remained unaware and kept strumming away on his acoustic guitar.

 _ **All this talk of getting old**_  
 _ **It's getting me down my love**_  
 _ **Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown**_  
 _ **This time I'm comin' down**_

 _ **Now the drugs don't work**_  
 _ **They just make you worse**_  
 _ **But I know I'll see your face again**_

 _ **'Cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, I'm coming, too**_  
 _ **Just like you said, you leave my life, I'm better off dead**_

Audrey was standing next to him now. His eyes were closed, but he still had tears beginning to escape through his lashes. His voice cracked more often now, causing him to be flat or sharp. But he kept singing his heart out as if it didn't matter, so Audrey kept listening. She quietly took a seat in the chair next to him and watched.

 ** _But if you wanna show, just let me know_**  
 ** _And I'll sing in your ear again_**  
 ** _Now the drugs don't work_**  
 ** _They just make you worse_**  
 ** _But I know I'll see your face again_**

 ** _Yeah, I know I'll see your face again_**  
 ** _Yeah, I know I'll see your face again_**  
 ** _Yeah, I know I'll see your face again_**  
 ** _Yeah, I know I'll see your face again_**

 ** _I'm never going down now, never coming down_**  
 ** _No more, no more, no more, no more, no more_**  
 ** _I'm never coming down now, never coming down_**  
 ** _No more, no more, no more, no more, no more_**  
 ** _I'm never coming down now, never coming down_**  
 ** _No more, no more, no more, no..._**

It was then that Drake opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was his mother. He immediately stopped singing, and his fingers ceased their movements. He cleared his throat, then wiped the water from his eyes and sniffled. He rested the largest side of the guitar on the grass and leaned the arm against his leg as if moving it would make it seem like he had never been playing in the first place.

Drake opened his mouth to tell her he hadn't heard her approach, but by his reaction, that was pretty fucking obvious, so he closed his mouth. He cleared his throat once more until he finally thought to ask, "How long have you been sitting there?"

Audrey shrugged off the question. "That was beautiful."

She didn't mean the lyrics. They were sad and depressing, and she didn't like her kids to listen to music like that. One moment, he would sing that the drugs weren't helping anything, which would make her hopeful, and then he'd counter it by saying he would never quit. But his voice, the way he'd sung it, the emotion - _that_ was beautiful.

"Thanks," he said, humbly looking down. "I messed up a couple times. My wrist still doesn't move how it used to, but at least I can still play. The doctor had me believing that I wouldn't be able to play ever again after I broke it."

"It's been a long time since I've heard you play."

She felt uncomfortable when he lit up a cigarette, but she said nothing about it. She started wondering whether he's done that because she made him anxious. They sat in silence for a while, just staring up at the night sky. Audrey was just enjoying his company and didn't want to ask him anything that would chase him off, but her silence made Drake feel even more awkward than another interrogation would have, so he finally spoke.

"I'm really sorry," he said, "about earlier. I didn't mean to make a big scene-"

"It's okay."

"I was just gonna take a little. I don't know what happened. I was just so nervous."

"Why on earth would you be nervous to come home?"

"I don't know."

"You can talk to me," she said, putting her hand on his knee.

Drake looked at her hand, then he moved his eyes up to meet hers. "I see the way everyone looks at me. Sometimes it's with anger. Sometimes with guilt or hurt or just utter confusion and lack of understanding. I can handle those, you know. I'll get past it. But every now and then, I see this took of sympathy in Josh's or Walter's eyes. As if I'm someone to be pitied. And it's embarrassing, and it hurts, and being back here is so hard. But I'm not some lost puppy. I _like_ the way I feel. I _like_ being high. And I'm not looking to get clean anytime soon," he admitted.

Audrey tried to keep her tears back. Drake continued to speak, which relieved her because she had a lump in her throat and she didn't want to break down about this in front of him.

Drake placed his hand on top of his mother's. "And I know it's not fair for me to ask you guys to just accept it and let me back in and live with it. I would never ask you to do that. This is why I've distanced myself. You don't deserve this."

"But you're my son. I can't just let you go."

"I think...I think, in order for everyone to be happy, it would be best if you do."

"Do you even hear yourself right now? You're talking a bunch of nonsense."

"I've been thinking about it for a while, and now I finally found the courage to say it. You would be so much happier. You and Walter wouldn't have to argue all the time."

Audrey shook her head with disbelief. "Do you really love those pills more than you love your family? More than you love _me_?"

"You can't look at it like that. If I were to write down the name of everyone and everything I love, it's not about what's at the _top_ of the list. What's important is that you're all on the same list."

"You sound like a jackass right now."

Drake gathered his thoughts and tried to regroup. "This is all coming out wrong. I'm just trying to say that I love you... _so much_. I love you more than anyone else in the entire world. And I'm so sorry that I've put you through so much shit. I just want you to be happy. You deserve only the best things in life."

Drake lifted his eyes and found that she was crying. He, too, had a stray tear on the bridge of his nose. This was the apology that she had always deserved - the one he had always held back because he was too stubborn or angry or prideful. And here it was - out of fucking nowhere, but it was better late than never.

"And I wish I could be that son who could give you the world, but we both know that I...I am..."

Audrey saw that he was trying to search his brain for the right word to insult himself, but she came up with one instead. "Perfectly imperfect."

Drake met her eyes.

"You're my son, and I love you no matter what."

The young man's weeping became heavier. "I just want you to be happy. You deserve the world."

"I don't want the world," Audrey said. "I just want you."

Drake's face contorted then, and he hung his head. Audrey saw drops of water fall into his lap as he sniffled.

"Why am I like this?"

"Maybe Walter was right earlier. Maybe my parenting-"

"No." Drake immediately put a stop to her words. "This has nothing to do with you. I promise. I was..." He needed a good excuse, but he couldn't blame his father. "I was sixteen. I should've said no. I just wanted to fit in."

"I think we've both made mistakes somewhere along the way."

"Sometimes, I wish I could go back," Drake said.

"You can always go back," Audrey said. "It's just not gonna be easy. But when you're ready, I'll be ready, too."

Drake met her tear-filled eyes with his own wet ones and forced a smile. God, she was the best. He wished that he could get himself to quit using just for her. He wanted to be the reason that she smiled, and if not, that was okay, too. He just wanted to stop being the reason that she shed so many tears. He wasn't worth all of that.

Audrey leaned forwards and pulled his head closer. She closed her eyes, then kissed his forehead for a good ten seconds. Drake didn't mind it, though. He missed her and her kind embraces. His father was only ever tossing him around and shoving him down and throwing punches left and right.

The woman pulled away, then pushed herself to her feet and checked her watch. "Are you going to sleep soon?"

"I don't know. I kinda thought I'd hang around out here for a while." To be honest, laying down just a few feet from the bed that Josh and Mindy shared was discomforting.

"I could use some help if you're up for it."

Drake stood. "Yeah, of course."

"Well, we got Megan a trampoline. Walter was going to put it together, but he had to run to the store really quickly, and Josh is gonna wake everyone up in a few hours."

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Really? That would help out a lot."

* * *

Audrey sipped on her cup of coffee. It was her second one, yet she was still exhausted. She'd spent all day cooking yesterday for the Christmas Eve dinner, and she was going to have to do it again once the sun came up. She had everything inside all ready for tomorrow. She walked over to the window and looked through the blinds at her son. The trampoline was put together, and Drake was currently working on the net. He worked fast although he was by himself. Just watching him doing something worthwhile filled her with a sense of pride.

The front door opened, and Walter stepped inside. "Hey, honey."

She turned to him. "Did you get it?"

He held up the small bag. "It was still so crazy out there, even at this time. I was waiting in line forever."

"I got Drake to put together the trampoline."

Walter glanced through the blinds and saw that his step-son had made a lot of progress. "Great. I was worried I wouldn't get to it by the time everyone gets up." He removed his jacket and shivered from the cold. "I'm so tired."

"Yeah, me, too. All that's left is the trampoline."

The man looked around the living room. The presents were under the tree. The stockings were stuffed. The cookies were eaten. The milk had been drank.

"It looks nice," he said.

Audrey smiled, then glanced at her watch. "Maybe we should try to catch a couple hours of sleep before tomorrow. We have a busy day ahead of us."

"Sounds great to me."

"You go on upstairs. I'm gonna make sure that Drake's alright."

"I'll go," Walter offered, but his wife stopped him.

"I wanna tell him goodnight."

The man nodded. "I'm gonna put on some warm PJs then. It's freezing out there." He leaned over and gave his wife a kiss, then headed upstairs.

Audrey opened the back door, then walked across the yard. She pulled her robe closer as an icy breeze made her spine shiver. It really was freezing out here. How had Drake managed to stay outside for so long. He didn't even seem bothered.

"It's looking good so far," she said, making her appearance known.

Drake looked at her from his place on the trampoline. He finished putting on a blue foam noodle around one of the poles, then he hopped down. "Thanks."

"Need any help?" It was so cold that she could see her own breath.

He could see just how tired his mother was, so he declined her offer. "No, I'm almost done."

"Walter and I were gonna head upstairs and try to get a couple hours of sleep in before Josh wakes everyone up."

"Okay, goodnight."

Audrey stepped closer to him, then she pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head. "Goodnight. I love you."

"Love you."

* * *

Drake's eyes shot open and he took in a sharp inhale. "Mom?" His voice was strained.

The woman stood over him with a tired smile on her face. "Santa came."

The young man remembered that he had fallen asleep on the couch less than an hour ago. Everyone was gathered around him with excitement in their eyes. He was in there way, he realized. He pushed himself into a sitting position, then stretched with a moan. After that, he stood, then went into the kitchen after eyeing his mother's coffee. He didn't usually drink coffee, but he was pretty damn worn out. He didn't bother to pour sugar or creamer inside; he couldn't taste it anyway after all those Triple C's. He still felt pretty buzzed as if he were in a dream. The colorful, blinking lights on the tree and the fact that he was so exhausted aided his unclear state of mind.

As he walked back into the living room, he found Megan tearing away at some wrapping paper. He went over to the dining room table, pulled out one of the chairs, then took a seat out of the way.

"Here you go, Mindy," Walter passed her one of the many gifts under the tree, then grabbed another, read the name, and handed it off. "This one's for you, too."

"Oh, wow! Look at this!" Megan held up box that had a picture of a mini fridge on it. "I've been asking for this for months!"

Audrey gave her a smile, then held another smaller box up. "Drake, this one's for you."

The young man's brows furrowed, for he was caught off guard. "What?"

"Well, you didn't think Santa forgot where your home was, did you?"

He hadn't expected anything. He wouldn't even have shown up had it not been for his father.

"Come on," Audrey urged, for he still hadn't moved.

Drake stood and took the present from her. He sat down on the arm of the couch and pulled away the wrapping paper. Inside was a box, which contained a brand new iPhone. "Holy sh... Thanks, guys."

His excitement almost immediately turned to guilt. No matter how much shit he put them through, his mother and step-father still cared.

"It wasn't us," Audrey said with a smile. "It was Santa."

Drake looked back down at the box. He was about to open it, but he was handed another gift from Walter.

"And pass this over to your brother."

"Actually, we've got a present for you two." Mindy nodded towards Josh, who went over to the closet by the staircase.

Audrey smiled with excitement as her son carried the large box over. "Is this what I think it is?"

Drake had no idea what was going on, but he put a moratorium on opening his gifts because he thought it was rude.

"Open it," Mindy urged as Josh put his arm around her waist.

Audrey and Walter both put their hands on either side of the giant box, and when she nodded her head, they both lifted the lid off. That's when several pink balloons floated into the air.

"It's a girl!" Audrey shrieked, already crying happy tears.

Walter grinned, then gave the two a hug.

A girl. Drake's baby was a girl. Was he supposed to feel something? He didn't. Maybe jealousy, but why? He didn't want it. There was no way that he could raise a kid. He did love Mindy, though, and the idea of Josh taking away his family (although he had stolen Mindy from Josh first) hurt. That was supposed to be him. That was supposed to be his life. But instead, he chose Charlie, and he didn't regret that decision at all.

* * *

"Need any help?" Drake asked as he entered the kitchen.

"No, thanks, sweetie." Audrey said as she opened the oven a couple of inches and peeked through the crack at the macaroni and cheese.

Drake pulled out a chair and took a seat. He watched his mother as she slaved away in the kitchen. Tonight's feast was supposed to be even bigger than last night's. Audrey looked tired, but despite her lack of sleep, she was running around making sure that everything was perfect. She'd been in this hot kitchen for so long that she was sweating, but she made no complaints.

Since her son had been silent for so long, Audrey said, "Why don't you squeeze in a nap before dinner? You hardly got any sleep last night. You look exhausted."

"I'm okay," Drake declined, and then it was back to silence.

He wished that he could just have a casual conversation with her, but things were different. The only thing he cared to talk about was Charlie. Everything else was just a useless waste of time. Somehow, he couldn't remember what their conversations used to be about before he had started using. He had never sat down with her and chatted non-stop for hours - he'd always been "too cool" for that - but he had never sat in an awkward silence before with her either.

"Thanks," he finally said. "For the presents. I didn't think..." He had been especially grateful for the clothes, which actually fit better than his old ones had.

"Well, we couldn't just leave you out. The phone was last minute, though. That's where Walter was last night."

"That was really nice. I..."

Audrey fanned herself for a moment, then stirred whatever was in the pot on top of the stove.

"I'm sorry I never responded back to your messages."

"You don't need to keep apologizing to me about everything. I just wanna enjoy the time I have with you before you leave again."

The young man stood, then moved over to her side. "Then let me help."

"Drake, no offense, sweetie, but remember that one time I asked you to cook dinner?"

"Mom, that was years ago. Haven't you heard? I'm a master chef now."

She squinted her eyes at him and gave him a smile. "Alright. You're on."

* * *

"Okay, so I may have exaggerated _a little_."

"A little?!" Audrey laughed as she looked down at the cake, which had sunken in. She pinched off a piece and held it closer to her eye. "Is that an eggshell?"

"Okay, I'm not that bad," Drake said.

"Why don't you just put the cranberry sauce on a dish, huh? Do you think you can handle that? And just let me do all the cooking."

"Whatever. But you're missing out on my talent." Drake moved over to the sink to wash his hands again, and when he looked out the window above the sink, he saw a few familiar faces getting out of a shiny, black Cadillac Escalade. "Oh, shit." Immediately, he darted through the kitchen and out the front door, then met Marcellas and his crew in the middle of the yard. "What are you doing here?" He was greeted with a punch, which almost knocked him onto his ass.

"How dare you ignore my texts?! I've been telling you to come into work for two days! We're really busy during the holidays."

"My phone broke when you guys almost threw me off the roof!" Drake whispered with a hiss.

"We are losing too much business fucking around with you. You have become a liability."

"Drake?" Audrey called with concern from the doorway.

He looked at her and said, "Just a minute," and when he turned back to the man, he was met with another punch, and this time, he did fall.

"Drake!" Audrey yelled as the stranger continued to pound on him. "Walter!" she cried before running to aid her son.

She shoved the man backwards, but her strength was nothing compared to his. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She watched as her son winced when he was kicked, and his eyes squeezed closed tightly. The pain was clear on his face.

"STOP!" she screeched, banging her fists against the man's shoulder and neck. She was instantly grabbed and held back by Rashaad.

"Hey!" Walter yelled as he stepped outside.

Marcellas stopped beating the young man. "You're done selling for me. I don't care how you get that money, but I better have five hundred dollars in my hand every single Friday. Do you understand me?" Since Drake, didn't answer, he gave him another swift kick. "I said, do you under-"

"Gah!"

"-stand me, you little pissant?!"

Drake's teeth were clenched together, and blood outlined each one. "Yes! Okay? I'll get your goddamn money! Just leave!"

Marcellas grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him up slightly so that their heads were closer together. "Don't ever make me come look for you again. I don't like when you make me get my hands dirty." And with that, he shoved him away.

Drake landed on his back. He was slightly blinded from the pain, but as he blinked, it became apparent that his mother was now leaning over him.

"Are you okay?! Oh my God! Walter, call the police!"

"No, don't!" Drake said, pushing himself up. "Please, don't." He knew that it would only cause trouble.

Walter helped him to his feet. "What the hell was that about?!"

Drake panted for breath as he clutched his rib cage. His could feel blood hanging from his lips like drool, so he spat it onto the grass. His eyes moved from his mother to Walter to Josh to Mindy to Megan. Everyone was standing around him. Everyone had just seen what had transpired.

"Who was that?!" Josh demanded.

"Are you okay?" Mindy asked.

The young man was embarrassed. His eyes watered over. He stumbled backwards because he was starting to feel claustrophobic. Thinking that he was going to fall, Walter held out his hand as an attempt to catch him. Drake wiped his nose and saw blood on his hand.

"I'm sorry," he said as a tear left his eye. He took another step back. "I shouldn't have come back. I'm sorry." With that, he turned and made his way towards the sidewalk.

* * *

Drake was too terrified to go back to his father's. He was sure that Audrey would tell him what had happened when he called to check up on him. None of it was even fair! How was he supposed to know that Marcellas was trying to get in touch with him?! He was the reason his phone was broken in the first place! And now he was showing up at his mother's house?! What would've happened had Drake not been there to take the beating? What would they have done to his family? This is all so fucked up! And now he couldn't even pay the man back by selling ecstasy for him. How was he possibly going to make five hundred per week?!

He felt so ashamed that his mother had been a witness. Even Megan had seen him laying there getting the shit beaten out of him. It was humiliating. He couldn't stop playing it over and over again in his head. All he could hear was his mother yelling and crying. How could they have done that to him?!

The young man flinched when he heard a twig snap. It was dark out, so it made the park extra scary. He looked around, whipping his head left and right as he tried to listen harder. Moments later, a figure came from around the bushes.

"I knew I would find you here." It was Martin, and he looked outraged. "Get in the truck."

Drake obeyed. He stood and walked across the grass. "Dad-" he tried.

"Shut the hell up. I ought to slice your throat."

Drake had visions of blood pouring out of his neck. Although it sounded painful, a quick death was probably a lot better than whatever he was about to get. "I didn't know that they-"

"I told you to shut you damn mouth!"

When he reached the truck, he opened the door, then climbed inside. The ride home wasn't long at all since the park was right outside his father's neighborhood. When they pulled into the yard, Drake got out, then started crossing the grass. Martin slid out of the truck and chucked his beer can to the side. He caught up with his son, then snatched him by his hair.

"Ah!"

He forced him to move faster, and when the door was open, he slung him onto the kitchen floor. The sound of his skin slapping against it caused a loud squeak. Drake flipped over so that he was looking up at the rage-filled man. He flinched when the man slammed the door closed, then locked it and secured the chain. As Martin started removing his belt, Drake scooted himself backwards with his elbows and heels.

"Please, don't."

The man wound the belt back, and just as he brought the buckle end down against his son, Drake brought his arms up to cover his face and turned the upper half of his body to the side.

"Aaahhhh!"

* * *

 **Author's Note: I really don't have anything to say except for you should really listen to The Drugs Don't Work by The Verve because it is amazing. And also, thanks to my friend in real life and to Sleepy Owl for still keeping up with the story and telling me your thoughts. Please, review so I can feel accomplished and successful in life. Gracias.**


	12. Crash And Burn

_(2 days after Christmas)_

Everything was back to how it had been. Drake was forced to lean over the kitchen counter while Martin pumped into him, only, just like a couple months ago, he had the most deadpan expression on his face. Now that he was back to a more regular Charlie schedule, he could go back to being his normal, emotionless, unbothered self. Drake's right cheek rubbed against the countertop with each one of his father's thrusts. The young man kept his eyes on the beer bottle that Martin had set down about a foot away from his head, and for some reason, he found himself reading the fine print. He stared ahead, his expression completely blank.

 _4.2% Alc./Vol. - Brewed and canned by A-B, St. Louis, MO. See below for born-on date._

 _Questions? Give me a ring at 1-800-DIAL-BUD (1-800-342-5283) - Check out my site www. budlight .com_

 _One pint - Beer - Per 12 fl. oz. Average analysis: Calories, 110. Carbohydrates, 6.6g. Protein, 0.9g. Fat, 0.0g._

 _Enjoy responsibly._

Martin's panting told Drake that he was beginning to climax. His father's hand, which had been pressing his head against the counter, now curled up, and he gripped the young man's hair in a fist.

 _Government warning: (1) According to the Surgeon General, women should not drink alcoholic beverages during pregnancy because of the risk of birth defects. (2) Consumption of alcoholic beverages impairs your ability to drive a car or operate machinery, and may cause health problems._

Just as Drake finished up his light reading, he felt a warm release rushing through his backside. There were more heavy pants for air and whispered praises before Martin finally backed away. The young man waited there, bent over with his nude bottom in the air as if he was ready for more. He knew not to move or speak until his father made it clear that he was finished. Martin buttoned and zipped his jeans, then he gripped Drake's ass cheek firmly and leaned over him so that he could whisper in his ear.

"Until next time." He grabbed his beer bottle, then pulled away. "Oh, and hurry it up with my breakfast."

Drake bent over then and pulled up his oversized sweatpants. He was still wearing that one outfit his father had let him borrow, for he'd left his mother's in such a rush that he forgot to grab his new clothes.

The young man went over to the stove, then turned off the flames. The sausage inside the pan was burnt, just like expected. He stabbed the two patties with a fork and placed them onto the napkin that was sitting nearby, then he went over to the freezer and grabbed two more.

Over the next several minutes, Drake had cooked two breakfast burritos consisting of sausage, eggs, and cheese. He put them onto a plate, then folded them up. The young man opened the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, then carried the two out of the kitchen and down the hall. When he reached his father's room, he knocked on the door.

"It's about damn time," the man called from inside.

Drake pushed open the door, then walked over to him and passed him what was in his hands.

"Now fuck off so I can finish this game," he said, nodding towards the television.

Drake left the room and closed the door behind himself. He went back into the kitchen to clean up his mess. Once that was done, he grabbed one of the burnt sausage patties and took a bite. Sausage (and pretty much everything that wasn't week-old leftovers) was one of the things that had Martin's name written on it in sharpie marker. His father probably wouldn't mind since it was going to be trashed anyway, but just in case, Drake scarfed down the hard, tough meat as fast as he could. His small stomach growled with appreciation.

Drake washed his hands, grabbed a beer for himself, then went into his room. He picked up his book bag, pulled out an already open box of pills, then poured eight onto his dresser. He put his pack down, scooped up four pills, tossed them into his mouth, then chased them down with the alcohol, cringing as they slid down his throat, clinging against each other and rubbing against the insides of his esophagus in the fall.

He was already high, so he was just going to take eight to make sure he stayed up while he went on a Charlie run. Now he was back on the schedule that he used to be on, and it felt good to have some sort of familiarity back. _Wake up. Cook for Dad. Charlie run. Walk home. Shower_ if _you have time. Do whatever bullshit Dad found for you to do, including Dad's lunch and laundry. Free time if time is leftover. Cook dinner. Wash dishes. Make another Charlie run if Walmart was out the first time or if you didn't get enough and just need to re-up. Get high. And make sure you have time left over for the physical and sexual assaults that Dad sprinkles in throughout the day._ This was normal. This was how things were supposed to be. This was how they used to be when Drake had gotten kicked out of his mother's and had asked to stay here. Since it was a permanent living arrangement, he had to help out with (or do all of) the household chores. He had to (at least, before Marcellas had cut off his "paycheck") pay rent (which actually probably just went towards more alcohol). He had to keep his head low, keep his mouth shut, and keep out of Martin's way. And most importantly, he had to stop fighting and resisting him. Well, that wasn't actually a rule. Martin actually liked when his son resisted. He felt more powerful knowing that Drake really couldn't do anything about it. Now Drake didn't try to wiggle away or escape at all. He knew that, no matter what, it was going to happen, whether it was at that very moment or the second he walked through the door after running off in hopes that Martin would cool off or pass out drunk.

And all of that was just the small price he had to pay in order to keep Charlie by his side. And all of that was worth it.

* * *

 _Fffppppppp!_ Molly pressed on the nozzle, causing whipped cream to erupt from the can. She drew a line down her torso, and seconds later, Drake's tongue moved from her belly button to the spot directly in between her breasts. Next, she sprayed a small mountain of the dessert onto each one of her nipples. The young man started with the right one, and once it was clean, he moved over to the next one. Molly intertwined her fingers into his hair as he sucked and nibbled, her breathing heavy. Since his body was pressed up against hers, she could feel how ready he was.

 _Fffppppp!_ Drake's eared perked up when he heard the can release more whipped cream. Like a trained dog, he followed the sound and cleaned up the mess. This time, it was in her mouth. As the two kissed and sucked and licked, their tongues wrestled together, and they stayed that way until Molly was out of breath.

 _Fffffppppppppppp!_ Drake followed the trail she had made. On her chin. Under her neck. Down her torso. Over her belly button. Onto her crotch. A noise left her lips as she took in a sharp breath when his tongue flicked over her opening. She bent her knees and spread her legs further apart so that he knew she wanted his tongue inside of her.

"Oh, God, Drake," she moaned. "Uunnn..."

He spent a good amount of time down there, but he didn't let her orgasm. He got her to the point where she was about to, and then his lips climbed back up body. When he was all the way up, Molly moved her lips to his ear and bit down on the lobe, pulling at it seductively. She whispered dirty things to him and wrapped her legs around his waist. She rubbed her lower parts against him to show him just how wet she was.

When he finally entered her, she let go of a high-pitched sigh. Even Drake moaned as she engulfed him. As he pumped, her back arched, and she tilted her chin back. Already, she was starting to peek. By the looks of it, he was, too. Molly let go of the bars on the headboard that she'd been tightly gripping for a while, then started rubbing her hands all over the sweating boy. Her eyes went from closed to wide open as her body trembled madly and curses and high-pitched screeches of enjoyment left her lips. She scraped her fingernails across the young man's shoulder blades, leaving trails of blood on his skin.

* * *

"You got my money?" was the first thing Marcellas said when Drake stopped in front of him. He had two girls sitting on his lap, rubbing his chest and also looking up at Drake.

Rashaad came up from behind Drake and shoved him forwards, urging him to hurry. Without a word, the young man passed the leader the bills he'd gotten from Molly. Marcellas then handed them off to one of his goons so that he could count them and check for counterfeits, then he met Drake's eyes again with a glare. Drake hid his gulp. He crossed his arms over his chest nervously. It felt more comforting to have something in between himself and the drug dealer. Unsettled by the way he was being stared at, Drake lowered his eyes.

After a nod from the money-counter, Marcellas said, "Get him out of here."

Rashaad then grabbed Drake and dragged him across the room. He opened the door, then tossed him into the hallway and slammed the door. Drake stumbled and was just barely able to catch himself before he fell. He looked over at the door guard Cedric, who wouldn't even take notice of him as if he were disgusting vermin, then he carried on down the hall, across the VIP loft, down the stairs, through the crowd, through the blacklighted entrance hall, and out the front door.

* * *

Drake swung his leg over the windowsill. Once he was inside, he closed the window.

"Well, hello there." Kenzly blinked as she watched him invite himself in like he so often did. It didn't bother her. She just found it strange that he felt so comfortable here when even she didn't.

Drake turned and saw that Kenzly was hooking her bra. "Is it cool if I crash here?"

She shrugged to show that she didn't care.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"No. Mindy's coming over."

"Mindy?" He suddenly regretted coming, but Megan was spending the weekend at Martin's, so he had to find somewhere to go.

 _Ding dong!_

"That's probably her now." Kenzly started to leave her room. "You two are cool, right? She said she's talked to you a couple of times." Without waiting for a response, she exited the room whilst slipping a shirt over her head.

Drake debated on whether or not he should leave. He could fuck around the city and come back later. Before he could decide, however, Kenzly had already come back with Mindy in tow.

Kenzly's teeth were clenched together and her shoulders arched to express that she was in an awkward situation. "Turns out you're not as cool as I thought," she said.

"What the hell happened on Christmas?" Mindy started.

Drake pointed his thumb towards the window. "I should go."

"Maybe that's a good idea," Kenzly said, sticking to her rule of keeping her friendships with the two separate.

Drake pulled the window open again, but Mindy was quick to cross the room and slam it shut.

"You fucking jerk! Do you know how upset your mom is because of what happened?"

"It wasn't safe for anyone if I stayed."

"Now she thinks you're dealing drugs and doing a bunch of shady shit for this guy."

"She's not far off."

Mindy shook her head. "You are breaking her heart, Drake."

He hung his head guiltily. He could only imagine what had happened at the Parker-Nichols home after he'd left. It had just been too embarrassing, and he felt too ashamed to face them. They had just witnessed some big bad dealer show up and beat him in their front yard. It was almost unreal how things had changed. How had things gotten so messed up?

"I'm gonna go," Drake said to Kenzly with defeat.

The girl nodded, but Mindy stopped him with a sigh.

"Don't. I'll stop shitting on you. Kenzly said you were here because you needed a place to stay. So stay."

"If you're having girl time or something, I can just fuck off for a while," he offered.

"No, it's okay. We were just gonna hang out."

"Maybe I should go, though. I don't think Josh will like this."

"It's not like we're alone. Kenzly's here."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Great!" Kenzly said. "Drake can paint both of our nails then. He's really good at it. He's got a very steady hand."

"Wow, you're really gonna regret not leaving when you had the chance," Mindy said with a smile.

* * *

"I remember watching this show with you before," Mindy said as _It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia_ played on the television. "Like, forever ago." She was sitting next to Kenzly at the foot of the bed.

"I don't remember," Drake said from the floor. "Alright, you're done."

It had been during a Charlie night. In fact, it was one where Drake had taken way too many pills and had gone through severe stomach pains for hours, so it was no wonder he didn't recall things from that night.

"It's our favorite," Kenzly said, and then she felt the boy pat her foot to let her know that it was her turn. "Where do I put my feet?"

"Wherever you want."

"I'm gonna put them on your lap."

"Great. It doesn't matter."

When Kenzly laughed, Mindy furrowed her brow with confusion. "What was that?"

"It's this part from the show. Drake, did you watch last season?"

"Yeah, I found it on some website and watched the episodes on my phone."

"You think Glenn's actually leaving?"

"Jesus, I hope not. He's my favorite," Drake said. "You saw those memes about him possibly DENNIS-ing us?"

"I did! They were so-"

Mindy stopped them. "Okay, why don't we have a more all-inclusive conversation?"

"Why don't you just watch more _Sunny_?" Drake suggested in a rude, but joking manner.

Mindy reached over and flicked his earlobe while he was busy looking at Kenzly's toes.

"Ow! Jesus!"

"Mindy, where did you get those shoes?" Kenzly pointed to the ones next to the door.

"I don't remember exactly. I think Saks."

"Jesus Christ! That place is expensive! I went to this new mall when I was visiting my cousin, and they had a Saks, and there was a skirt for five thousand dollars in there."

"Is this really an all-inclusive conversation?" Drake said.

Mindy looked down at him. "Hush."

Drake rolled his eyes, but he did what she said. He dipped the brush into the light blue polish, then painted Kenzly's third nail. He was actually pretty good at it. Surprisingly enough, he'd painted a lot of nails in his day. Meelah had asked him to do it a couple of times, and Kenzly just expected it, like, every other week. It was part of the reason why she loved him.

The young man turned his head towards the television. He missed watching the show all the time with Kenzly back when they dated. They used to smoke weed and watch it on repeat in between napping and fucking. It was a shame things never worked out with her. From the outside looking in, one might say that they were perfect for each other.

"Hey, sir," Kenzly said, snapping her fingers. "Eyes up front."

In his best Mac impression, he said, "I'm gonna put my thumb through your eye, you little bitch!"

Kenzly shushed him and acted as though she was trying to calm him. "Look at me. Stay calm with me, okay? Be unemotional. Let's be democratic."

Mindy looked on, slightly amused and slightly terrified after Drake's random outburst. "I feel like you guys are speaking your own language sometimes."

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Drake jumped out of his skin. "Christ!"

Josh stepped inside and closed the door behind himself. "I thought I heard you arguing when I came in."

"No, they're just quoting some show I don't know anything about," Mindy explained. "Come save me."

"Oh. I was wondering why the first thing that came to Drake's mind was sticking a thumb through someone's eye."

"I will smash your face into a...into a jelly!" Kenzly said.

Drake responded cooly with, "I will slap you in the teeth."

"Oh, no," Josh said. "Are you watching that show again?" He looked at the television.

"Why?" Mindy asked.

"Once they get started like this, they won't stop." Josh crossed the room until he was in front of his girlfriend. He leaned down and gave her a kiss.

Drake looked down at Kenzly's foot. Kenzly noticed his sadness.

"How was work?"

"Great. I'm just glad to be off so I can see you again."

Mindy smiled and awwed sarcastically, then pushed her lips against his again.

None of this really made sense to Drake. Like, Mindy had practically been in love with him. She'd all but begged him for sex the second time she cheated on Josh. Drake and Mindy not ever seeing each other much anymore was understandable, but why did she crawl back up Josh's ass? ...Not that he didn't want her to. They both deserve to be happy. It just hurt sometimes. Like, hadn't it meant something to her?

When the two were done kissing, Josh went over to the computer desk, which only had a laptop on top, and pulled out the rolling chair to take a seat. He looked down at his step-brother, and from his side-angle, he could see a bruise on the boy's jaw. "It's good to see you again, Drake."

Drake could tell that he wasn't being nice. He could feel the start of an argument brewing.

"You know, since the last time I saw you, you brought gang-bangers over to Mom's on Christmas and could've had everyone killed."

"I didn't kno-"

"What if you wouldn't have been there? What if they had taken their anger out on Mom? Or Megan? You don't even live there. Why are they coming there? And what are you involved in? I mean, could you be any more stupid?"

Drake kept his eyes low and his mouth shut.

"You've always been selfish, but I just can't _believe_ you could be _this_ self-centered. How many people have to get hurt before you stop this nonsense? How many nights does Mom have to cry herself to sleep? How many more people have to die?"

The room went silent after his reference to Meelah. Old Drake would've punched him for sure. New Drake, however, was much weaker. He stood, then grabbed his backpack and left the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Kenzly waited a moment, but when she didn't hear the front door, she said, "I don't think he left."

"Maybe you should talk to him," Mindy said to her boyfriend. "Calmer, this time."

Josh refused. "I meant what I said. He needed to hear it."

"I'll go check on him," Kenzly said. She hobbled across the room on her heels in order to keep her wet toenails from touching the carpet. She exited the room, walked down the hall, then opened the bathroom door, where she saw Drake huffing dust-off.

"I knew you saw the can under my bed. I'm surprised you held out for so long, to be honest."

Drake pulled the nozzle away from his lips. His voice was extremely low-pitched. "MINDY WAS THERE, AND SHE HAS THE BABY."

Kenzly went over to him. He sat underneath the window between the sink and the tub. She took a seat next to him, then held out her hand so that she could have a turn.

After he'd exhaled, his voice was back to normal. "Every time I do the can, I keep hoping that maybe it'll kill me," he admitted, then he took the can back and had another hit.

"Same," Kenzly said. "When are we gonna stop being angsty teenagers?"

"NOT ANytime soon. Life is shit."

"Suicide is badass," Kenzly said, once again quoting their favorite show. She rested her head on his shoulder and felt better to hear him actually let go of a laugh.

"Our lives are horrible. Horrible and sad, so we should just end it all."

"Not me actually. My life is pretty sweet. But we have a suicide pact and I have to honor that because I am an honorable woman. I will die an honorable woman."

"Okay, wait a second. My life is also honorable."

"Insert eighties music here."

Drake pulled his knees up to his chest and set the can down after they finished quoting the show. "You're pretty perfect."

Kenzly giggled. "Shut up."

But instead, Drake gripped her chin and lifted her head, then pushed his lips against hers. The kiss went from meaningful to hungry in zero seconds flat. In less than a minute, Drake was removing his jacket, but he never separated from her. He placed his hand on her cheek. His tongue was halfway down her throat.

Pretty soon, Drake was on his feet. He pulled her up with him, then pinned her against the wall that they had been leaning against. He moved his mouth to her neck when she started speaking, her breathing already heavy.

"We shouldn't. We have company."

"Quick one," he argued, slipping his finger under her skirt to convince her.

She closed her eyes and moaned. "Quick one," she agreed.

When she was wet and ready, Drake quickly unbuckled his belt. Impatient and ready to feel him inside of her, she helped him with his button and zipper. He connected their lips again as she pushed his pants down to reveal his erect penis. The young man grabbed her legs and lifted her, so she wrapped them around his waist. He moved over to the sink and leaned her back slightly so that the back of her head was pressed against the mirror on the medicine cabinet. When he did this, several items were knocked over and fell off of the sink, making a small racket. Drake's head was buried between her breasts. His one finger, which changed to two, was still moving inside of her to really get her going. She lifted her chin into the air and moaned. Drake took advantage of the opening and started biting down on her neck seductively until goosebumps rose up on her skin.

"Fuck me," the girl urged.

Drake swapped out his fingers for his dick then. His jaw dropped open as he slipped inside of her, his member engulfed by her warmth. His eyelids hung loosely over his dilated pupils. He let go of a shaky breath as his hips continued to buck.

* * *

Mindy turned on her heels and went back into Kenzly's room.

Josh's eyes furrowed. "I thought you were going to the bathroom."

"I'm pretty sure they're having sex in there."

"What? They just went in there."

Mindy shrugged and moved onto a similar topic of conversation. "Don't you think it's weird that _we_ haven't fooled around yet?"

"I mean, you're almost six months pregnant."

"People still have sex when they're pregnant," she said. "I know what it is. You're still upset about the Drake thing."

"I mean, yeah. Of course I am, Mindy. You slept with my brother while we were together. I love you, but that really hurt. It still hurts."

She sighed. "I get that. So whatever you need me to do to prove to you that whatever happened with him was a mistake and is over, I will do it."

"And I believe you," Josh said. "I still - it's just something that pops into my head when I'm in a room with you two. And I'm trying not to be that boyfriend, so I don't always say something, but God, Mindy, even today, I walk in and he's painting your nails?"

"I didn't think it would be a problem. Kenzly was with us."

"Exactly. Kenzly's your best friend. She's gonna cover for you if it comes down to it."

"So who would you trust to be in a room with me and Drake?"

"No one," the boy answered. "Me. I can see it in his eyes. He's still in love with you. I mean, didn't you see his face when I kissed you in front of him?"

"He feels just as guilty about what happened as I do."

"See, there you go sticking up for him again."

Mindy felt like this conversation wasn't going anywhere and it frustrated her. "I didn't stick up for him when you talked to him like he was a piece of shit and blamed him for Meelah's death, did I?!"

Josh was upset that she wasn't on his side during that whole thing. "You know what? I think I'm just gonna go." He stood, then moved over towards the door.

"Drake is literally in the bathroom fucking my best friend right now, and yet I'm here wanting to have sex with _you_! If that doesn't prove to you that I'm over him, then I don't know what will!"

Josh stopped in his tracks, then sighed, but instead of leaving, he turned back to the girl. "Just give me time." He shrugged. "That's the best I can do."

* * *

Kenzly walked into her bedroom, where Drake was sitting in the computer chair and watching a music video from YouTube on her laptop. "Mom's home. She brought me some din din."

Drake nodded to show that he acknowledged what she said, but then he brushed it off by saying, "I totally forgot about all these songs on here that we used to listen to. All that late-ninties/early-two thousands shit."

Kenzly went over to him and looked over her shoulder at the playlist: Third Eye Blind, Sugar Ray, Howie Day, Spin Doctors. "Oh, yeah. Remember how obsessed ten-year-old you was with Avril Lavigne?" she teased as she ripped her dollar menu burger in half.

Drake laughed. "Fuck off. She was badass. I was going through a punk stage. Everyone did back then."

"Dude, you played _Sk8er Boi_ on repeat for months." She set the sandwich next to him.

"I was ten!" the young man defended. He picked up the burger. "Thanks." He turned in his chair to watch as she sat down on her bed. "And don't act like it was just me. You went all out with that shit. Remember ninth grade? The jeans with the chains and the suspenders hanging down. The dark make-up."

Kenzly giggled.

"The eyebrow piercing," he emphasized, then lifted his brows innocently and swiveled around in his chair as if to say he had won the argument.

"Oh, please. The only reason you didn't have all that was because your mom wouldn't let you wear it and my mom didn't give a shit. Remember? You didn't talk to me for a week when I got my tongue pierced because you were so jealous."

Drake squinted his eyes and looked up in thought. "That...that did happen, didn't it?"

"Uh, yeah. You were such a little bitch." She took a sip of her soda. "I thought you would've grown out of that by now."

Drake grinned out of one side of his mouth because he was trying hard to suppress his smile. "Oh, fuck you."

She stuck her tongue out at him, revealing her tongue ring, then she wiggled it around so that he could hear it clacking against her teeth. "Jealous much?"

Just then, the two heard yelling coming from the living room. It was Kenzly's mother's on-again/off-again boyfriend Jeff. Drake looked at his friend and saw her frown.

"You didn't say he was here."

"I didn't know," she replied with irritation.

"-A GODDAMN SLUT, HUH?! YOU'RE OUT THERE FUCKING OTHER GUYS WHILE WE WERE BROKEN UP! YOU FUCKING WHORE!"

Drake knew that the two would calm down soon enough. Either Jeff would storm out in a rage and leave Kenzly's mother, Mrs. Adler, a sobbing mess, or the two would end the argument in loud and obnoxious make-up sex. Neither were ideal, but for his best friend's sake, Drake hoped for the latter. To drown out the arguing, the young man turned up the volume on Kenzly's laptop. She looked up at him and forced a grateful smile, but it was obvious that her sadness wasn't cured.

"I have a genius idea," Drake said. He stood and walked over to her, then sat down next to her. He reached under the bed to retrieve the can of dust-off.. "Let's get high."

* * *

Drake awoke to the sound of the slow movement of a metal zipper. In front of him was a shadow bent over his backpack.

"The hell are you doing?" Drake's voice was strained.

"I need a cigarette. Kandice is out and I couldn't find Kenzly's."

Drake pushed himself up, then reached over and snatched up his bag. "Don't go through my shit."

Jeff straightened. "Why? You got something to hide?"

Drake wanted to tell him that it was none of his fucking business, but he did actually have Triple C's inside that he wanted to keep hidden. To avoid adding more suspicion, he said, "Because it's rude."

"Oh, excuse me," Jeff said sarcastically. "I wouldn't wanna be rude. I mean, you're the one mooching off of this family and getting free food and shelter here, but God help me if I want a fucking cigarette from you."

"Jesus Christ," Drake said with annoyance. He unzipped his bag and pulled out his L&M's. He grabbed one, then passed it to the man. "Here. Fuck off."

Jeff gave an exaggerated grin. He took the cigarette, but he also grabbed the box and pulled out two more, then tossed it onto the floor. "Thanks."

Drake rolled his eyes and picked it up as the man started towards the door. "Asshole."

"You know, you've got quite the mouth on you. I'd be more inclined to kick your ass and teach you a good lesson if it didn't look like someone else was already doing it for me."

Drake looked down at his body. Since he wasn't around his rapist father and since he and Kenzly may or may not have fooled around a bit more before going to bed, Drake felt more comfortable sleeping in the nude here. His crotch area was covered by the comforter, but the rest of his body was visible. Even though the moonlight shining through the window and the light in the hallway were the only things lighting up the bedroom, the bruises on his body were clear as day. Martin had gotten him really good with the belt on Christmas.

"What's wrong?" Jeff taunted in a baby voice. "Does your daddy beat your ass when he's had a little too much to drink?"

Drake felt his muscles tense up. He lifted his hand and flipped him the bird. "Fuck you, you fucking cunt."

In zero seconds flat, Jeff was leaning over him, and he shoved the boy's skull against the headboard. "You better put that finger down before I fucking break it."

"What the hell?" Kenzly groaned as she was woken from her sleep. She turned over and saw her mother's boyfriend tightly gripping her friend's jaw. "Jesus, what the fuck? It's two in the goddamn morning." She snatched Jeff's hand and shoved it away. "Go to fucking sleep."

Jeff stepped back and raised his hands innocently to show that he was finished, then he put them next to his side and said to Drake, "You better watch that fucking mouth of yours and speak to me with some fucking respect, you faggot-ass pussy."

Annoyed by the man's actions and choice of words, Drake spat on him.

"Come here, you little bitch!" Jeff grabbed him by the neck and snatched him closer. He shook the boy violently as his fingertips dug into his skin.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Drake?!" Kenzly said, irritated that he'd even bothered to fight back with this moron. She had her hands in between them and was pushing them apart. "Jeff, stop! Let him go!"

The man did, then he pointed his finger firmly in Drake's face. "Next time, I won't be so easy on you, you cock-sucking shit-bag."

Drake responded with a smug, "Blow me," and then watched as Jeff stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

"Are you serious?!" Kenzly exclaimed.

"He's a fucking prick," the young man defended.

"Jesus Christ, Drake. Grow up." She turned over and plopped her head onto the pillow.

"You're not seriously pissed at _me_?"

"Look, I just wanna go to sleep. I'm fucking tired."

Drake quietly cursed. Before he laid back down, he slid his book bag under the bed. He knew Kenzly would be over it by morning. They always bickered over stupid shit, almost like a married couple. He was aggravated now, but this would all be forgotten when they wake up, so he didn't take her angry words to heart.

* * *

Kenzly smiled and moaned with her eyes closed as Drake kissed her neck. His warm breath on her skin summoned goosebumps. She rubbed her fingers through his hair as he slid his fingers up her legs. Before the idea of morning sex could go any further, the bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Adler stood in the doorway.

"Kenz, I need you to-"

Drake immediately pushed himself off of her daughter although Mrs. Adler didn't seemed at all bothered by the sight before her.

"-run to the store for me and pick up some pancakes. Jeff wants some bacon and pancakes for breakfast."

"So why doesn't _Jeff_ go get the pancakes?"

"Just do what I asked," the woman begged. "Don't be a brat about it."

Kenzly groaned and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Whatever."

"I'll try to find enough change in my purse." She started to close the door, but she said, "Oh, good morning, Drake."

He opened his mouth awkwardly to say something, but she was gone before he had time.

"I guess we'll just have to put a moratorium on this," she said.

She removed the cover and stood, her naked body catching the boy's eye. He laid down with a huff, so Kenzly locked her door and went back over to him.

"Fine. But be fast. I wanna get back before the Saturday morning cartoons go off."

Her arm disappeared under the comforter. A second later, Drake felt her hand on his erect penis, and she started tugging.

* * *

"Thanks for doing this," Kenzly said as Drake handed the cashier some cash. "My mom will pay you back."

He shrugged it off, took his change, then grabbed the bag, which contained pancake mix and three boxes of cough medicine. When they walked outside, Drake felt sprinkles of water on his skin.

Kenzly must have, too, because she said, "It's starting to rain."

Drake was grateful to have a friend like Kenzly that he could crash with unannounced whenever he needed to because, without her, he would be at the park right now, hiding in the tunnel. "I'll drive if you open my Charlie."

"No chance," she said.

"Why not?"

"Well, because I haven't wrecked any cars, but you, on the other hand-"

"Come on. You know that was an accident."

"Well, who would do it on purpose?"

"Uh, Charlie and Mac."

"Well, I can't argue with that. Look, I'll open them for you when we get home."

"Fine."

Quieter, she teased, "Since you have to be such a baby about it."

Just like always, Drake used another _It's Always Sunny_ reference. He lifted his free hand above his head. "I am up to here."

Kenzly laughed, then playfully bumped into him, almost pushing him into a parked car.

"Drake?"

The young man turned to see who had just walked past him. It was Megan and his father.

"Oh, um..."

"What's up, son?"

"Just..." Since the Walmart bags were white, the bright yellow boxes of Triple C's could be clearly seen if one were to look, so he tried to casually hide it behind himself. He was grateful when he felt Kenzly, who stood behind him, take it from him.

"Hey, Kenzly." Megan smiled and waved.

"Hey, girl. What are you up to today?"

While the two spoke, Drake caught Martin staring at him. The man nodded, silently letting him know to leave. It was his day to be away from Drake and with his daughter, so he didn't want to be bothered. He nervously averted his eyes, then started listening to their conversation again, but he only heard Kenzly's last word.

"-pancakes."

"I wish you would come stay with us again," Megan said. "I miss when you cooked breakfast."

"I'm just glad it always came out edible. I always burn things at my house. Maybe it's our stove or something."

"It's not the stove," Drake chimed in, still uncomfortable with his father's glare.

Kenzly scoffed. "Rude."

Megan stuck up for her. "He's just jealous because his cooking is awful. Drake, did you tell her about the time that Walter-"

He stopped her because the pressure of Martin's impatience made him antsy. "Actually, Megs, we gotta go. We have this thing."

She was disappointed, but she pretended to shrug it off. "Call me soon?" She wrapped her arms around her brother.

"Yeah," he agreed, but he felt guilty for lying. He watched as she gave Kenzly a hug, then she followed Martin inside after he said his forced goodbye. Drake turned, and he and Kenzly continued making their way back to her mother's car. "Well, shit. I thought that _we_ were best friends."

The girl shrugged. "What can I say? I find your sister to be much better company," she said, then she added, "and she's much nicer."

"Bullshit." Drake got into the passenger's seat.

Kenzly got behind the wheel, then cranked the car. "Hey, you're not changing the subject that easily. I wanna hear this cooking disaster story."

"Oh my God, it was forever ago. I don't know why they still bring it up."

"Tell me."

"Well, basically, I tried to make these brownies because I was hungry. Long story short, Walter took them outside and ran over them with his car and Mom had to give Josh twenty dollars because he bet that they wouldn't get squished or crack or anything. It was rude."

Kenzly laughed, then reached over and put her hand on the back of his neck. "Did someone get their feelings hurt?"

"I don't have feelings," Drake said.

The girl frowned teasingly. "Aw, they _did_ hurt your feelings."

"Piss off." Drake pushed her hand away, but she only continued to tease him.

* * *

Kenzly and Drake didn't make it home in time to catch any Saturday morning cartoons, so instead, she had her laptop set up in front of the television, and she was watching _Archie's Weird Mysteries_ on YouTube. She was sitting on the floor, and Drake was on the bed combing through her hair like she'd requested. She loved having her hair played with. It was one of the best feelings in the world.

"Didn't they made a show out of the comics?" Drake asked.

"Yeah, _Riverdale_."

"You watched it?"

"I had to. It had our boo Skeet from _Scream_."

"No shit? I haven't seen _Scream_ in so long. Does your mom still have the movies?"

"No, one of her exes stole them when they broke up."

"What a dick move."

The credits started rolling for the show. "You wanna watch something on Netflix?"

"Sure."

Kenzly shut down her laptop, then pulled up Netflix on her television. "I have over a hundred things on my list that have been on my list for years that I still haven't watched." After she sat back down in front of the boy, she picked up her hair and put it on top of his lap so he knew to continue brushing it. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Whatever."

"Just pick something."

"I don't really care."

"I'm supposed to be the indecisive one," she said. "Come on. Choose."

"I really am up for anything," he said.

Kenzly groaned. "Show or movie?"

Movies were a big commitment. Drake didn't plan on going anywhere. He was sure he and Kenzly would hang out in front of the television most of the day. But still, knowing that he couldn't move for a two-hour film made him antsy.

"Show."

"Drama, comedy, horror, mystery...?"

"I answered the first question."

"Jesus Christ, Drake."

Kenzly started scrolling through the comedies, stopping at a few to read about their plots, yet she wasn't in the mood for anything. It took more than thirty minutes to finally decide on a show, and of course, it was one they both had seen every single episode of: _It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia_.

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay to walk? Didn't you take, like, four or five boxes?" Kenzly asked after seeing Drake stumble over absolutely nothing.

"I'm fine. Thanks for letting me stay."

"Oh, here. Don't forget your bag."

Drake took his backpack, then thanked her.

"Text me when you get to wherever you're going so I know you're okay."

The young man leaned forwards and kissed her cheek, then said his last goodbye and started walking down the driveway. He heard the front door close behind him.

It was night time on Sunday. Martin had texted him a while ago to let him know that Megan had gone back home. He'd enjoyed his weekend with Kenzly. They always got along so well, and he couldn't ask for a better friend than her. She never asked him questions that he was uncomfortable with: living situation, bruises, etc. He never pried too far into her life either. They both had a mutual understanding that they would bring it up themselves if they needed to get something off their chests.

He also felt super close to her because of her shitty living situation. A pill-popping mother and a rude ass prick who kept her dependent on him were the only parental figures in her life. Thankfully, Drake's mother was great, but his father made up for his good luck by being shitty enough for the both of them. Thank God he had Charlie because otherwise he'd be way too focused on the dread he normally felt when going back to his father's.

It was a shame that things hadn't worked out between himself and Kenzly. They were perfect for each other. They both thought so. Maybe when they had dated, it had been too soon. That was way back in high school anyway. Several things had changed since then. For example, Drake no longer cared about getting a tongue ring and Kenzly no longer wore chains and zippers all over her clothes. Maybe there'd never be a right time. Drake was still dealing with Meelah's sudden death, and Kenzly like to fuck around and keep emotions out of it. Maybe her mom had fucked her up into thinking that relationships should be avoided. It made sense. In the end, they were all the same. In the end, it always only amounts to hurt.

* * *

"Drake?"

The young man looked over to his side, suddenly aware of his surroundings. How many times had his name been called before he finally snapped back to reality? Was he being obvious?

"What the hell? Are you high?"

Yeah, he was definitely being obvious.

"Get in. Get in the car."

He suddenly realized that he was sitting. Where the hell was he? Who the hell keeps talking to him? _What is_ with _this bright_ fucking _light?!_

The car door slammed, and the sound of high heels against pavement pounded in his ears. It was much louder than the sound of her voice. She sounded like she was yelling from several yards away.

"Jesus Christ! Stand up!"

He was pulled onto his feet, then led over to the car.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

All her words came out jumbled up. It had been a while since he'd been this high. God, it felt good. He even let go of a moan as he was buckled into the passenger's seat. Moments later, the woman was behind the wheel and she pressed on the gas.

"What the hell were you doing in the middle of the road?!"

Drake restlessly rubbed his numb face. He could hardly hold his head up. The young man even had drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. His forehead was pushed upwards so that the woman could get a better look at him.

Drake moaned and laughed, then moved his eyes towards her. "Mom..."

"Christ, son, what have you done to yourself?"

The young man was grinning from ear-to-ear. His eyes were half-open. "Gethighwithme, Mom." Drake opened his backpack and reached inside. He pulled out his last box of pills. He was about to pour them into his mouth, but Audrey grabbed them.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" She rolled down her window, then tossed them out."

"Thefuck, Mom?! Pullover!" He saw that she wasn't stopping, so he yelled louder. "PULL THE GODDAMN CAR OVER, YOU BITCH!"

"I don't even know who you are anymore." She was crying. "This isn't you! This isn't my son!"

"I used to be a good boy withsomuch potential. Isthatit?" Drake laughed wickedly. "Huh, Mom?"

"Stop it."

"Pullover. Lemmeout."

"No. I'm taking you to rehab."

"Fuck that!"

"You're gonna go in, you're gonna get better, and you're gonna come home."

"That'swhatyado, huh? If there'sever a problem, you just senditaway." He chuckled, expressing just how high and deranged he was. "Because I'man embarrassment toyou, so the solution istojustgetridofme."

"I'm doing this for your own good," she defended. "I'm worried about you."

"Pullover," he slurred.

"Y-"

"PULL OVER, GODDAMNIT!"

"You're gonna get clean."

"MOM, YOU STUPID CUNT! PULL THE MOTHER FUCKING CAR OVER, YOU BITCH!" Drake reached for the wheel.

"Stop!"

"Lemme out of this _fucking_ car!" he screeched.

Audrey jerked the wheel to get back into the road fully. "Drake, stop it!"

The intoxicated boy tugged again, and this time, the car lost control. It took a sharp right and, because of the inertia, it turned onto it's side, then it's roof, then the other side, then back on it's wheels. By the time it started its second flip, the two passengers were both knocked unconscious.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I think I must've just really been in the mood to watch _It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia_ when I wrote this. That's the best show ever, and you guys should watch it. If you've seen it, please, talk to me about it everyday for the rest of your life.**

 **I like Drenzly. They're my favorite. Which is your favorite pairing? Drenzly? Dreelah? Drindy? Drolly? Dracardo? Drinestone? Drarlie? I would love to know your thoughts, and I would appreciate your feedback on your favorite and least favorite characters. It would help a lot to know which ones are going over well with the audience and which aren't. I feel like there are so many things that I try doing with this story, and I'm curious to see if they're working well, but I'm not getting any reviews.**

 **Anyway, I will try to update faster next time. Basically, I just wait until I get, like three reviews, but the only one I got last chapter was from my friend in real life. Anyway, like I say, goodbye forever, see ya never.**


	13. Death Sentence

_(5 days later)_

Drake's bottom lip trembled as he looked down at his mother in the hospital bed. She was a pitiful sight. She was covered in bruises and scratches. She wore a neck brace and had bandages wrapped around the top of her head. Her left arm was in a sling since she'd broken her collarbone.

"She covered for you, you know?" It was Walter.

Drake hadn't heard him come in. He kept his back turned to him and wiped his eyes.

"Said she tried to swerve out of the way to miss a deer."

The young man sniffled, then gripped his mother's hand. "Is she okay?"

"She was in a coma for the first two days," Walter said. Every word he spoke was in a bitter and accusatory manner. "She wakes up now, but when she does, she's in a lot of pain. She hasn't had much feeling in her legs, so they've been running tests on that."

"Shit," he said quietly, but his step-father heard it.

"They released you just now?"

Drake slipped his hand away from his mother's. He sniffled and wiped his eyes once more before turning to the man. "Yeah."

"It's crazy how things work out, huh? You're the reason this is all happening, yet you come out of it with nothing more than a couple of scrapes and bruises while your mother is facing the possibility that she may never gain full mobility of her legs ever again."

Drake broke down then. His voice cracked. "I'm so sorry."

"You should be. Your mother is the kindest person there is, and all you do is destroy her."

The young man let go of a sob. "I didn't know what I-"

"What?" Walter interrupted. "You didn't know what you were doing? Because you were fucked up?"

"It was an accident," he tried guiltily.

"Well, this is a pretty goddamn expensive accident if you ask me."

Drake could tastes salt on his lips. He sniffled, then hung his head and wiped his eyes.

"I think it'd be best if you'd leave." He didn't just mean leave the hospital, and Drake knew it. He meant he wanted the boy to stay away from the family for a while.

The young man's face contorted as tears flooded his face. He didn't argue with him, though. Drake sniffled when he got his facial features under control, then he wiped his eyes. He still kept his head low, but before he exited the room, he whispered, "Yeah."

* * *

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Ricardo said over the phone. "Calm down. I can't understand you when you're crying."

Drake continued his rant as he walked down the street towards his father's. "I didn't mean to do it! She could've died! It's all my fault! It's all my fault, Ricky!"

"What happened? Tell me what happened." The man was trying hard to piece together all of Drake's nonsense.

"I'm so sorry for being such a dick to you! I'm the worst kind of person! You were so nice, and I treated you like shit! I'm so sorry!"

"Drake, what's happening?"

"I know I don't deserve it, but I need you, man! I have to get clean, and I really need help! You were right! You were right this entire time! And I'm sorry for being an ass, but I really need you!"

Ricardo had no idea what was going on, but Drake was ready to clean up. Even after their last argument, he was ready to help and do whatever it took. "Where are you?"

"I'm going to my dad's."

"Alright, look, I'm at my cousin's. I'm about an hour and a half away. But I'm coming, okay? So don't change your mind. I'm leaving right now."

"Please, hurry."

"I will, okay? Just hold out for me. I'll be there soon. Do you want me to have Julio go over there and sit with you?"

"No, I'll wait for you." Drake felt a lot calmer now knowing that he wasn't going to have to deal with this alone. He sniffled, then wiped his eyes.

"Okay. I'll be as fast as I can. I'll see you in a bit."

When he said his goodbyes, Drake put the phone back inside of his pocket. He looked up and saw that his father's house was the next house. He continued his pace as he crossed the yard, climbed the steps, and then opened the door.

"Oh, boy, I can't believe you have the audacity to show your face here." Martin chuckled angrily as he moved closer.

Drake wore the most pitiful expression on his face. He looked absolutely broken, and a part of him hoped that maybe his father would be there for him. "Dad," his voice cracked.

"Don't you be looking for any sympathy from me, you little shit."

"Ah!" Drake was hit so hard that he fell onto the floor.

On second thought, this was probably what he needed more than comfort. Maybe somehow this was karma coming back to give him what he deserved. His top lip was already bleeding and had a cut on it. He looked up at the man, ready for more. Just like expected, that's exactly what he got. Blood sprayed from his lips with each punch to the face.

"How could you do that to you mother?!" Martin yelled. "You stupid little mutt!"

He then started kicking his son. It hurt a lot, but to Martin, it didn't seem like Drake really minded. The man caught on to what his son was doing. By beating him, Mr. Parker was helping him get the punishment that he felt he deserved. Martin wasn't about to hurt his son so that he would feel less guilty. No, sir. Instead, he was going to inflict so much pain onto Drake that he wished he was never born.

Drake was confused when his dad left him. He cautiously uncovered his head and peeked through his arms. He didn't see the man anywhere, so he removed his arms completely so that he had a wider perception. Martin was nowhere to be found. Was he done already? Not that Drake minded. He was hurting like hell, and his face was bleeding all over the place. By the time Martin got more drunk and hyped himself up for a round two, the young man would be long gone. He just had to lay low and-

Suddenly, Martin turned the corner and exited the kitchen, so Drake could now see him and the knife that was in his clenched fist.

"Dad..." The boy slid backwards on his heels and elbows, ignoring the pain from the beating he'd just endured. "Don't. Dad, stop. Don't. Don't!" Drake yelled when he was pulled onto his feet, then he was shoved forwards against the nearest wall. "Ugh!"

He was yanked back by his shirt collar, then tossed onto his stomach. Drake could feel his father stepping on him with one foot to pin him down. To further add to the pain, Martin grabbed his left arm and pulled it closer, bending it into an awkward direction.

"Ow! Dad, don't! What are you doing?! Don't!"

"Walter called and told me what happened. He let me know how your mother was doing. One thing that happened in the wreck was that her finger actually got cut off."

Drake gulped as his father gripped his middle finger. "Don't." He couldn't turn his head all the way to see, but the second he felt the sharp blade on his skin, he went into full-on panic mode. "STOP! Stop! Stop!" Drake cried.

"There's not gonna be any stopping this time," he said as he pressed his foot against the young man's shoulder blade, earning a scream. "I'm gonna fucking kill your ungrateful ass." He snatched the young man's arm higher then.

"Aaahhh! Aahhhh! Please! PLEASE!"

Martin positioned the knife in his hand, then sliced it right through his son's middle finger.

"GAAAAAAHHHHHHH! GAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAHHHHH! HEEEEELP! HEE-EEELP!"

His father readied the weapon again, this time pressing it against Drake's pointer finger.

"Please! Please! Please!" the boy sobbed. He screeched when his skin was cut open, and another finger dropped onto the ground right in front of his face. Snot dripped from his nose and saliva left his lips. He felt his thumb being gripped this time. "No..." he whined. "Dad..." He squeezed his eyes closed at the pain of losing yet another finger. "AAAHHHH! AAHH-HAA-HAAAA!"

The man let his arm go finally and watched as Drake screamed some more. Honestly, he felt sick to his stomach having done that. Just looking at the bloody hand made him nauseous. He kicked the severed fingers towards the kitchen, then dragged Drake onto his feet.

"God, please! Please!" the boy begged with blood gushing down his arm. He weakly fell onto his knees, but was yanked up again.

"We're not done yet." Once he was inside his bedroom, Martin shoved him onto the floor, then he locked the door. "Gotta make sure you can't run from me." Without warning, he turned and stomped down onto the boy's leg, then snatched his foot in a strange direction.

Drake screeched as he shot up and grabbed the man's shirt with his good fist. "I think you broke my leg! I think you broke my leg!"

"You better get your fucking hand off me." Martin gripped his wrist and violently twisted it.

"AAAAHHHHH! STOP! PLEASE, STOP!" He screamed again when he was pulled onto his feet, then tossed face-first onto the bed. He heard Martin unbuckling his belt. "No, please," he whimpered. The pain was getting to him. He felt his pants being pulled down, exposing his naked rear end. "Aaaahhh!" Drake exclaimed when his left arm was snatched and pinned behind his back. "Dad!"

"I'm not your fucking dad! Do you hear me, you worthless piece of shit?!"

"You're hurting me! Please!"

The pain of Martin tearing through his backside was nothing compared to the broken bones and sliced fingers. Drake couldn't fight against the rape. If he moved, even the slightest bit, his arm would pop right out of socket or possibly even break.

"Oh, God!" he whined as tears bled from his eyes.

Martin snatched his hair with his other hand and forced him to turn his head so that maybe he could just be able to see him out of the corner of his eye. "God doesn't listen to scumbags like you."

Drake's back jerked as he sobbed. Martin went on his merry way pumping in and out. He ignored his son's shrieks of pain, even when he cried out about the pressure against his arm, and that's when it finally snapped.

"AAAAAHHHHH AAAAAAHHHHHHH! AAHH-HHAAAAA!"

"Shit!" Martin angrily tossed it to the side, earning another yell. Again, he gripped the boy's hair. "THAT WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED HAD YOU OF JUST BEEN FUCKING STILL!"

Drake was sobbing loudly and drooling all over the place. He couldn't move. Everything hurt. Martin was going to kill him. For real this time. He was really going to die.

"DON'T FUCKING MOVE UNTIL I FINISH!"

The young man laid there. It's not like he could move even if he wanted to. The only thing he could do was cry and beg for mercy. He begged his father. He begged God. But nothing was working. "Help me," he whined. "Help me!"

"Shut your goddamn mouth!" Martin forced his face into the mattress, muffling his weeping and also making it hard for him to breathe. It was then that he started to climax. He thrusted harder and deeper and faster until, finally, he came.

When Drake felt it rushing through him, he felt defeated. There was nothing that he could do. He knew that he was going to die, and now that Martin was finished with the rape, it was going to be nothing but pure pain and torture until he took his last breath.

The man straightened, then fixed his clothes. Drake lay still while he went over to his closet.

"You're gonna apologize to your mother." Martin retrieved an old video camera. "And whenever they find your body out in the woods, this tape will be right there with it."

"No," the young man whined, choking on his words.

"You fucking apologize, you runt. Okay? And _maybe_ I'll _think_ about making it fast when I kill you."

Drake lifted his head and looked up at the camera. He was a mess. Tears left his eyes, snot dripped from his nose, saliva and blood left his lips. When he saw the red light turn on, he swallowed, then dropped his head weakly. "God, please!" he whined.

"DO IT!"

When he spoke, his voice cracked. "Mom...I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, don't kill me, Dad."

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"

Drake flinched at his terrifying voice. He used his unbroken arm to cover his head, but his father still aimed his fist there anyway.

"YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING SAY MY NAME?!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't know! GAAAAAHHHHH!" Drake yelled when the man kicked his injured calf. Drake was pulled off of the bed and shoved into the floor. "Aaaahhhh!"

"Again." Martin held the camera up, irritated by his son's tears. He was growing impatient by the millisecond. "NOW!"

"Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He bit his trembling lip, then shook his head, but thinking about it made him break down all over again. He repeated himself in a higher octave until he couldn't speak anymore. He closed his eyes and hung his head with shame when the man turned the camera off and set it on top of his dresser. "Please, don't show her that." He knew it would only break her heart seeing him this way: a sobbing, bloodied mess with snot everywhere and nude from the waist down.

"I think it'll make her feel better to see you finally getting what you deserve. Huh? Don't you?" Martin roughly snatched the boy to his feet by his hair. "Get up." He tossed Drake across the bed with so much force that he fell off the other side.

The young man screamed, but once he landed on the floor, he scooted himself backwards. Unfortunately, he was right up against the wall. "Dad, please, don't. I'm begging you. Please. I'm so scared."

Martin dragged him onto his feet, then pulled the knife out of his belt loop.

"No, God, please, no."

Drake tried to push the man's hand away, but his broken wrist was no match for his father's rage-fueled strength. The second he felt the knife tear into his skin, his eyes went wide. His jaw dropped open and he looked at his dad with confusion. The man stared right back, his eye twitching. This didn't feel as great as he'd always pictured it. He pulled the knife back out, and that's when his son let go of a scream.

Drake's eyes moved to his stomach. He was clutching the wound with one hand, but he could see blood seeping through his shirt. He was sick to his stomach and he felt weak. He reached up and started to grab hold of Martin's shirt- "D-d..." -but his legs gave out and he fell onto his bottom. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked back up at his father helplessly. He waited for the man to slice right through his jugular, but his father only stared down at him. Drake prayed that maybe he'd changed his mind about all of this.

The young man fought against the pain and started to drag himself across the floor. He needed to get away. He needed to get help. He needed to get protection, and he knew just where to find it. He pulled himself across the carpet, crying out the entire way. Everything hurt. Everything was in excruciating pain. However, he pushed through it. That is, until he felt the knife stab into his shoulder.

"AAAHHHHHHHHH!" Drake whimpered when it was yanked back out, but he kept moving.

He felt the knife tear through his skin again, lower than the one before. This time, he stopped moving and turned to look up at the man with an expression of betrayal on his face, but when he did so, Martin's shoe collided against his cheek. The force of the blow flipped him onto his back. Blood splattered everywhere, and when Drake clenched his teeth together at the pain, Martin could see the crimson liquid outlining each tooth.

"Why?" Drake said through his sobs.

"Why?" Martin seemed pissed off by the question. "WHY?!" He stomped down onto his son's groin, and Drake shot up into a sitting position and screamed. The man gripped a fistful of his hair to hold his head still, then pressed the blade of the knife directly under the boy's eye, which Drake tried to protect by shutting his lid.

"Please," he whined. He was so terrified of losing his eye that he clutched the knife in his hand and tried to push it away. The sharp edge tore through his skin as he did so.

"You are the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"I love you," Drake choked out, to Martin's surprise. "I love you."

"What?"

"I love you."

Martin pulled the knife away, then immediately kicked his crotch. When the young man jerked forwards, he smashed his shoe against his face again, which knocked him onto his back.

When Drake recovered, he said, "I love you, Dad. I'm sorry for ever being born." Even though he was shaking more than he ever had in his life, he bravely accepted his fate. "Do what you have to do."

Martin saw as his son closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to watch what was about to happen to him.

"Please, be quick." It was more of a prayer than a request to his father.

So many thoughts were racing through his mind. He wondered how his mother would react to the news of his untimely death and he hoped that she wouldn't resort to using more medication to dull the pain. He felt guilty that he was the reason she was taking Xanax in the first place. He pondered where Martin would put his corpse and realized that he actually did care because, even in death, he didn't want to be lonely out in the woods somewhere and never found. He thought about the bugs that would crawl all over his skin and eat his eyeballs out. He contemplated what his father's alibi would be, but he had no doubt in his mind that the man would get away with this. Martin was smart - a trait that had not been passed down to Drake. He knew that he would be forgotten and no one would think much of his disappearance because he had technically already disappeared from their lives months ago.

As he laid there sobbing, he thought of Meelah. Maybe he had always been wrong. Maybe she _was_ watching over him. He was embarrassed that she was seeing him like this. She was probably begging him to get up. Drake couldn't. He was too exhausted. All his fight was gone. There was nothing left for him in this life. He'd ruined every good thing that he'd ever had going for him. This was the best thing for everyone's sake. No one could get hurt if he wasn't around to hurt them.

"I'm coming home, Meelah," he whispered almost inaudibly to himself.

Moments later, Martin dragged Drake onto his feet, then shoved him against the wall face first. "Don't think you're getting out of this one just yet. I'm gonna make you suffer."

"Haven't I suffered enough?" the boy cried.

Martin hushed him by shoving his face against the wall several times. "You think so? Because I think I'm just getting started."

Drake's nose was surely broken, and there was even a hole in the wall from where his head had broken through. He dizzily gazed at it with blurry vision. He wished that he could shrink down to a smaller size and crawl right through the hole and hide from the world in there.

The young man winced when he felt the knife make a long cut across his back, then another, which tore apart his tee shirt.

"How many times do you think I can cut you before you bleed out." He made another slice. "If I don't go too deep, I think we could have a really long night full of fun ahead of us. What do you think?"

Each new cut created a burning sensation on his back, but he stood there putting all of his weight on his good leg and endured through the pain. Drake rested his forehead against the wall in front of himself and watched as his tears fell onto the carpet. He flinched at the sudden loud sound of Martin ripping away what was left of his shirt. It still hung around the front because of the sleeves, but his back was completely exposed so that his father could get at it better. He could feel when the man pressed the knife against the back of his neck, then Martin dragged it down his torso, following the direction of his spine. Drake's back curled up, for that was his only defense against it although it didn't change anything. When Martin got to his lower back, he stopped pressing down hard and just grazed over the skin so that it would no longer cut him. Drake closed his eyes and his muscles tensed up when he felt the blade go in between his cheeks. Martin stopped and poked at his anus with the pointy end, trying to get a rise out of the boy.

Drake was humiliated, and he hoped that Meelah wasn't watching over him. "Please, don't." He sounded pitiful.

"Before this is over, I'm gonna cut off your dick." Martin pulled the knife away and went over to his dresser. He grabbed a bottle of vodka that was amongst the mess on top and moved back over to his son. "But I'll save that for last in case you wanna have one last good fuck before I kill you."

"Please..." He constantly begged and begged and begged, but he felt like he was getting nowhere. He didn't understand how someone could be so completely heartless during his time of vulnerability.

Martin took a swig of the alcohol and swallowed. He took another, but instead of gulping it down, he spat it onto Drake's back, and his cuts stung even more.

"How do you think I'm gonna do it?" Martin asked. "How do you think I plan to kill you?" He turned the boy around so that they were looking at each other.

"Please, don't," he begged with tears running down his face.

"Come on. I'll give you three guesses. If you get it right, I'll let you choose how you wanna go out."

"Dad, I'm begging you, please."

"Is that your first guess?"

"I'm so scared."

"You only get one last chance to guess. Better take this seriously."

Whatever his father had planned was probably a slow and grueling death. Maybe he should take the deal and make a guess while he had the chance to control what was going to happen to him. Martin could see his gears turning and knew that his son had decided to play along. It sickened Drake when the man started humming the timer song for the final question on Jeopardy. It distracted him from his thoughts, but he knew he had to block it out.

Inside of Drake's mind, a dozen images of awful and painful deaths played like a gory horror film. The idea of being stabbed to death felt a lot more alarming than it had minutes before. He shook the thought from his mind. That one was too obvious. He thought about being drowned in the bathtub, and it terrified him wondering how long that would take.

"Hmm hmm hmm hmm," the man continued to hum. He could see a hundred different scenarios flash across Drake's eyes, each one making him more and more afraid of what was to come. He saw his son's crying pick up again, and when he was finished with his song, he noticed the boy's bottom lip quivering. "Time's up. What's your answer?"

There were so many possibilities that it was hard to pick which death Martin thought would best suit him. He had a few lousy attempts at guesses, but he couldn't get himself to say those words. "Dad, please. I don't wanna do this anymore."

"You give up then? You wouldn't have guessed it anyway, so that's fine. I'm gonna make you a noose so that you can kill yourself. So when it's time, you're gonna be a good boy and do what Daddy tells you and put your head through the loop."

Drake hung his head as the waterworks came more intensely.

"And I'll lower you down slowly so you don't break your neck. That way, you'll just hang there, and you'll just barely be able to breathe, so it's gonna take a long time for you to finally die, and I'll just sit back in my chair and enjoy every minute of you struggling and reaching out to me for help. And just before you take your last breath, I'm gonna set you on fire and let you burn. How does that sound?"

Drake's back jerked with each sob. At the thought of his future horrid death, his legs gave out, and his back slid down the wall until he was sitting on his bottom. However, Martin didn't give him time to cry over this new information before he pulled him to his feet.

"Here's what we're gonna do now, though."

Drake struggled to walk on his leg. When he was led into the bathroom, he feared that he was going to be held underwater, but instead, he was shoved and locked inside of the closet.

"I'll be back soon," Martin called from the other side of the door. "Don't go anywhere." As he walked away, he laughed at his own joke.

Inside the closet, Drake tried to gather his composure. Maybe he could find a way out now that his father wasn't around. His entire body was hurting in the tiny, cramped space. He looked around himself for some kind of weapon, but the only thing in reach was the pile of his father's shoes that he was sitting on. Above him was a shelf, but his hand wouldn't fit to reach up there, and there was probably nothing there that would help him anyway.

"HEEEEEELP!" the boy screeched at the top of his lungs. He banged his fist against the door. "SOMEBODY, PLEASE!" He prayed that someone would hear him although they never usually did. "HEEEEEEEEEEEELP!" It was hopeless, and he knew it. He choked as he said at a normal volume, "Help me."

Minutes later, his father returned, and Drake was sick with fear. He wanted to throw up. He was dragged out of the closet, and with a hard shove, he fell against the tiled floor.

"Oof!" He was yanked to his feet again, then pushed onto the bed.

Martin was on top of him in a second. He was straddling him so that the boy's arms were pinned under him, rendering them useless. "Be still this time."

Drake watched as Martin lifted a needle, then it was pressed against Drake's ribs directly under his right nipple. "Aahh! Aahh! What are you doing?!"

The needle scalded his skin. Martin had heated it. The pain was immense, but Drake couldn't wiggle his way out of this one.

"Please, stop," he begged, gripping at the bed sheets with his good fist until his knuckles were white.

"Shut the hell up."

Drake received a hard smack. His head was turned with the force of the blow. During this time, his eyes moved towards the photo on his father's nightstand. It was of himself, Martin, Megan, and Audrey at the zoo. Drake had been ten, and Megan was three. He missed those days when it seemed that his family had been perfect. He could remember what it was like when his father would lift him up and put him on his shoulders. He used to be so happy then. How had things gotten _this_ messed up?

Drake wholehearted regretted telling Audrey about Martin's date. He'd only been trying to do the right thing, and he'd thought that the date was with her and she'd forgotten or something. For a long time, he'd stuck by his decision; his mother didn't deserve an unfaithful scumbag like Martin. But now he wished he would've kept his mouth shut. Maybe it would've been okay if Audrey would've taken one for the team. Surely, she would've found out eventually and divorced his sorry ass, and Martin wouldn't have so much blame and hatred towards his son if Drake hadn't of gotten himself involved.

Drake's abdomen felt as though it was on fire even when Martin finally pulled the needle away. Martin grabbed his broken wrist and helped him onto his feet, then he grabbed the hair on the back of his head and shoved him against the mirror that hung on the back of his door. The young man's eyes moved to his burning skin and saw that his father had branded him with three words: _WORTHLESS COCK-SUCKING SLUT_. Drake's face contorted as tears fell down his cheeks, and he hung his head.

"You like it?" Martin taunted. "So whoever finds your body will know who you are and that you never meant shit."

The man then shoved him, and Drake's side hit the corner of the nightstand. As he writhed on the floor in pain, he clutched the wounded area, but finally, he was where he needed to be. He crawled over to the front of the nightstand so that he could access it with his right hand. He pulled open the drawer and- "AAHH-HAAA-HAAAA! GAAAAHHH!"

Martin stomped down onto his broken leg and took hold of his knife again. A strangled sob left the young man's lips as he reached inside the drawer and grabbed a gun. He immediately pointed it at his father, who held up his hands and took a step back.

"Drop the knife," Drake demanded, his hand trembling like all hell. "DROP IT!"

Martin obeyed. "Alright, alright. Just take it easy, son."

"Ah!" the young man hissed when he moved a bit. He looked down at the stab wound in his stomach. _Jesus, it's still bleeding. Oh, fuck, it hurts! Everything hurts!_ He suddenly noticed that the man's feet were closer to his than they had been. His head shot up and he waved the gun around. "Back the hell up!"

Again, the man moved back to his original spot.

"I don't understand," Drake said, sounding completely broken. "Why did you take it this far?"

"Why are you stalling?" Martin said. "What's the matter, Drake? Too pussy to shoot?" He stepped forwards.

"Don't!" Drake held the gun out further. "I swear to God, Dad."

"What's your plan, Drake? You could either a). shoot me, or b). sit there and point the gun at me until you bleed out and die."

Drake's eyes moved to his knife wound again. _Oh, God. There's blood everywhere!_ "Hey! Stop!" the young man yelled when he noticed his father take another step closer.

It was clear to Martin that he was in a hell of a lot of pain. Drake's face was pouring with sweat. His breaths hitched in his throat. He clenched his teeth and constantly winced.

"You don't have the balls to shoot me," Martin challenged. Another step.

"Dad, please, don't make me do this."

Step.

"Don't come any closer or I swear I'll shoot!" Drake threatened, but he seemed to be more scared than his father.

Step.

"Last warning."

...Step.

Drake pointed the barrel of the gun at his dad's leg instead of at his chest, then he pulled down on the trigger.

 _Click!_

 _What the fuck?_

 _Click! Click! Click!_

 _Shit!_ "Oh, shit!" He had fear in his eyes as he looked up at his father. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, don't kill me."

Martin grinned for a moment, then snatched the young man to his feet and tossed him onto the floor behind himself. "You didn't turn the safety off, you stupid cunt."

"Ahhh!"

He got on top of his son, then wrapped his hands around the boy's throat. The pain of his father's weight against his stab wound was agonizing, and it made it hard for him to try to focus on getting some sort of air into his lungs.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this," Martin said with an evil grin. He squeezed so tightly that his face was red and he had a vein popping out of his forehead.

Drake lifted his arm and grabbed hold of Martin's throat. This didn't seem to have nearly as severe of an effect on him as it did on himself. The man was irritated more than anything. He lowered his fist against his son's skull, and Drake immediately let go of his neck. However, Martin continued pounding on him, adding bruises on top of his older ones and smearing the blood in further. Drake's instincts kicked in, and as a last ditch effort, he balled up his fist and aimed for his attacker's face. The second his father recovered from the brutal punch, he glared down out his son, clearly enraged. Just as Drake started to hit him again, Martin slugged him as hard as he could in the jaw. The young man's head was turned with the force of the blow, and at that moment, something out of the corner of Drake's eye caught his attention: the knife. He reached his arm in that direction, his broken wrist throbbing.. His fingers were stretched out as far as they could go. Just...a little...bit...furth- Drake let go of a cough and his hands instinctively moved to his throat when Martin lifted his head, then banged it against the floor. As Drake clawed at Martin's fingers, the man chuckled angrily.

"You've always been a sorry excuse for a son. I'll be glad to finally be rid of you."

* * *

 **Author's Note: My friend asked me to update before she had to go to work, so you're getting this chapter a lot quicker than normal. I tried so hard to have this chapter edited and ready yesterday because how cool would it have been to post this specific chapter about Martin finally snapping and attempting to murder his son as the thirteenth chapter of this story on Friday the 13th? I'm so disappointed that I didn't accomplish that, but let's pretend I did. You guys that reviewed last chapter were awesome. They were full, paragraph-long reviews with detailed thoughts, and it all helped so much, so thanks to Rose, Sleepy Owl, and Guest (you know who you are).**

 **So what are your thoughts on the chapter, and what do you predict will happen in the upcoming ones? Let me know because I love to read your ideas. Thanks for still reading. Maybe this story will be done soon. Like, within the next few chapters. I don't know. I never actually plan shit.**

 **Dear Guest Reviewer: I really appreciate all the comments and criticism. I did have a couple of questions, though. First off is the television/music references. I know I went overboard with the _It's Always Sunny_ references, and that was something I wasn't sure about when I posted the chapter. So if I wouldn't have repeatedly said it was a _Sunny_ thing, would you still have understood? Because they would say a few jokes, then wouldn't bring it up until a few scenes later. Or are you suggesting mentioning maybe once per new setting as not to take the reader out of the story? Or is even just that too much? Second thing: the timeline. Jesus, I know it is so confusing. I wasn't a hundred percent sure what you meant by it, but I'll try to clear it up as best as I can. I really feel like I obsess too much over the timeline because I have to have it exact. I even had to count down the days of the week to make sure I kept up with which day was Friday so that he could go see Marcellas. Because the story is so long, I know that it feels like it's been several months, but the story began in December - November at the earliest. In this chapter, I'm pretty sure it's January 1st, which is a week after Christmas because I had a _two days later_ and a _five days later_. I do skip a lot because honestly, I'm just too lazy to write for things and my heart's just kinda not into this story as much anymore. But if you were talking more along the lines of the wounds he has and not the lengthiness of the story overall - I try my best to remember a lot of things, but I'm currently three or four chapters ahead of what I've posted so I can go back and set things up last-minute if I need to, so a lot of things get confusing and hard to remember. I feel like I do mention a lot that he has bruises from this or that, especially in scenes where he sees his family or someone from the past, but I don't constantly write about him being in pain. I feel like Drake is too prideful to let his father win in that way (if it's not as serious), and he's probably used to it by now because he's endured it for so long. The Triple C's also probably help to numb him. However, I've never been in that situation, so I definitely like your ideas and will try better to work them in and write these parts better. I wasn't sure which head injury that you were referring to, but I'm assuming that it was the one where Drake blacked out for a couple minutes when Martin hit him. I don't know how this kind of stuff works, but in my mind, I didn't think he'd have a concussion or serious brain injury. I've hit my head a couple of times and was completely fine, so that's what I was going for. I feel like there's so much stuff to do, and I have a pregnant Mindy, and so much needs to happen before the baby stuff becomes an actual thing. I think at this point, I have three months, but I'm gonna be doing a lot of skipping around and filling in the important stuff with flashbacks because I'm just lazy. I try to keep a hold of these dates as best as possible, but I know I probably slip up a lot and it gets all messy. Lastly, I mentioned several chapters ago that Martin was on disability, and I don't know shit about that and how much money you get from it, so I kinda hoped that I could sweep that one under the rug a bit. Because for a while, he did also get some of Drake's dealing money, but that's not exactly a thing anymore, so I just kinda dropped it. Shh. Anyway, thanks for the long, thought-out reviews. Don't feel hesitant to review no matter how long ago I updated because those are the ones that push me to finish whatever chapter I'm working on. Sorry for making you read a whole extra story of all my thoughts. I did not realize I had this much to say.**


	14. Broken

Ricardo squinted as he rounded the bend and was met by a swarm of flashing lights in the distance. His heart immediately dropped into his stomach when he realized whose house they were crowded in front of. "Jesus, shit."

It was dark out, so although he wanted to get there as fast as he could, he had to be careful about the nosy onlookers standing in the street and gossiping. The blinding lights forced him to slow down. Ricardo found a parking spot on the curb a couple houses up to stay out of the way of the emergency vehicles. He jogged down the street, surveying the scene in front of him for a familiar face. However, neither of the house's residents were in sight.

 _How could this have happened? I just got off the phone with him, and although he'd been a blubbering mess, he hadn't said anything about his father being pissed at him._

Ricardo scanned each police car to see if Drake was in any of them, but his search came up short. He glanced at the front door, which was wide open as officers shuffled in and out. What he saw next made him sick to his stomach.

"Oh shit."

Being rolled out of the house by two men wearing coroner's jackets was a stretcher carrying a long black bag that was zipped up.

"Oh shit. Oh my God." Ricardo covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he felt nausea rising up his throat.

All this time, he complied with Drake's request to keep everything a secret, and now he immediately regretted that decision. He should've known that Martin would go too far one day. It was only a matter of time. All Ricardo could do was blame himself for not getting Drake out of this terrible home situation whether the boy wanted his help or not. He had been aware of it for over a year, and he'd done nothing about it. Not one god damn thing. And now it was too late. A life was lost. A good friend was gone, and nothing was going to bring him back.

And it was all Ricardo's fault.

The man stood frozen, lost in his own thoughts. His grief quickly turned to rage: rage for himself for keeping quiet, rage for Martin for being the worst kind of person imaginable, rage for Drake's family for putting him out on the streets and not being there for him, even rage for Drake for being too spineless to stand up for himself and tell his father when enough was enough. Drake shouldn't have had to put up with this. He was the last person who should've been treated in this way. Martin was a monster, and Drake deserved better. His friend had always put himself down - always spoke negatively of himself - because of the things his father said to him. He'd never realized just how special and talented he truly was. He thought he was worthless. He thought he was a piece of shit. And he'd died thinking that. Now he'd never know otherwise. He would never know how much Ricardo loved him. He'd never know about all of the potential Ricardo saw in him.

All he had left was the last words he'd said to him over the phone, and then just like that, Drake was dead.

"Ingram," an officer said as he stepped out of the house and made his way down the porch steps. He was met at the bottom by another policeman. "Take those cuffs off of Mr. Parker."

"Yes, sir."

Ricardo's eyes followed him over to an ambulance that was parked in the yard by a line of trees. He clenched his jaw and his fists tightened with fury as the man opened the back door and climbed inside. He was out of sight for a moment as he uncuffed the murderer, then he made his way back over to the house. Before he knew what he was doing, Ricardo was stomping across the yard with one thought running through his mind: _I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna fucking kill him._

When Ricardo made it to the vehicle, he whipped open the back door and came face to face with someone he didn't expect to see. "Drake?!"

"What the hell?!" one of the paramedics exclaimed.

Drake looked scared to death, and the quickness and unexpectedness of the door opening had caused him to flinch with terror. He was openly crying and trembling, and he had a blanket over him to cover his naked private region. "Ricky?" the boy's voice cracked.

"Holy shit!" He started to climb up, but was stopped by one of the two paramedics.

"You can't be in here."

"Please. Let him in," Drake tried. It was obvious that he was having trouble speaking for some reason.

"We're about to head out. You can follow behind us."

Ricardo looked over at his friend, the situation overwhelming him, but hesitantly, he nodded and stepped out of the ambulance.

"Ricky?" Drake was hurt by his choice. For the first time in a long time, he didn't want to be left alone.

"It's okay," the man said. "I'll be right behind you, and I'll find you the second we get there."

"Don't," the young man begged.

"You'll be okay."

However, Ricardo wasn't so sure about that. When one of the paramedics reached over to close the door, he stumbled back in complete and utter shock. Martin had been an asshole, but never in a million years would Ricardo have guessed that murder was something that he was capable of. Jesus, and his own son! He couldn't imagine the pain that Drake was in, not to mention his mental state knowing that he had to kill his own dad just to stay alive. His friend would never be the same person again.

* * *

"GAAAAH! STOP! STOP! PLEASE, STOP!"

Ricardo's heart broke hearing Drake's screeches of pain. He couldn't see exactly what was happening to him because a group of doctors and nurses were surrounding him, and he had been told to stay out of the way.

"STOP! STOP! STOP! RICKY, TELL THEM TO STOP! PLEASE!" His voice trailed off as he sobbed. "Oh, God..."

"We're almost finished," a nurse said. She sounded heartless although she was trying to offer him some comfort. "Try to be still."

"GGGMMMMM! MMMM!" Drake clenched his teeth and pursed his lips. He was breathing so hard through them that saliva sprayed from his lips.

Ricardo felt himself getting emotional when his friend called out for his help again. This was absolute torture. He hated that there was nothing that he could do about the situation. He wished that Martin was still alive so that he could beat the shit out of him. That would make him feel better about his current uselessness. "They'll be done soon," was the only comfort that he could offer.

* * *

Megan looked through the vending machine glass for a moment. _Chips or chocolate? Chips or chocolate? Ch...iiips._ She pressed A3, then watched as a small bag dropped down. She pushed her hand through the flap and pulled out her snack, then started making her way back to her mother's room.

Audrey wasn't doing great. She was alive, and that was a relief. However, she was having a lot of trouble getting feeling into her legs. It was hard on everyone, but Megan couldn't begin to imagine what her mother was going through. She was tough. That was for sure. She never once cried about what had happened. At least, not in front of her daughter. Megan had walked in on Walter sobbing and venting about his anger towards Drake a couple times. She guessed he only felt comfortable doing it when she wasn't around.

It was hard to believe that Drake would do something like this. She knew that he hadn't meant for this to happen. She knew that he had been high. Megan had let him do his thing since this whole mess started, but now it was hard for her to not be angry with him. It had almost cost them Audrey's life. This wasn't fun anymore. However, Walter's radical solution of kicking Drake out of the family wasn't something that Megan could be behind. Drake was her _brother_ after all. He was family. He made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. For example, Megan's greatest regret was not putting a stop to Martin's brutal punishments that he dished out on Drake every weekend. If she had blown the whistle on that, would he ever had resorted to drugs as some sort of coping mechanism in the first place? And if he never started using, Audrey never would've ended up here. Was this all inadvertently Megan's fault?

"AAAHHHHHH!"

Megan stopped in her tracks. She turned and looked at the closed door that she had just passed.

"AAAAAHHHHHHH!"

She knew that scream all too well.

 ***FLASHBACK***

"AAAHHHHH! Dad, stop it!"

 _Crash!_

"AAAAHHHHHH!"

Six-year-old Megan sat in the hallway outside of her bedroom. She hadn't meant for this to happen. Or...maybe she did. But now that it was, she regretted it. She had just been filled with so much rage that it had kinda slipped out. He hadn't meant to break her doll. She knew that. In fact, he'd even tried to fix it himself with the hot glue gun before apologizing to her. Why did she rat him out?

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME, YOU SNOT-NOSED LITTLE SHIT?!"

"Yes!"

 _Smack!_

"Yes, sir," thirteen-year-old Drake corrected, his voice muffled through the closed door. "Please, stop, sir."

"I swear to Christ, Drake, if you touch another one of her fucking toys-"

Megan felt terrible now. He didn't have any toys here. Really, his only option was to watch television, but that was only if their father wasn't already in the living room. Usually, Drake stayed hidden in the bedroom or outside - somewhere close enough, though, that he could hear and come running if Martin summoned him for lunchtime or chores.

"-I will break every single one of your goddamn fingers! Do you understand me?!"

There was silence. Megan could only assume that he nodded meekly, for Drake never would've left their father's questions unanswered. Next, she heard the sound of several spankings.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!"

"I don't fucking hear you answering me!"

"Yes, sir! I understand! I won't play with her toys anymore! I promise! Ow!"

"The next time you see her, you better fucking apologize."

Thinking that it would make his father a little bit proud of him for taking the initiative, Drake said, "I already apologized."

"THEN APOLOGIZE AGAIN, YOU DUMB MAGGOT!"

The boy's voice was shaky. "Yes, sir."

 _Crash!_

"And I better not hear one more goddamn thing come out of your sister's mouth about you messing with her or her things or I will beat you into next week, you worthless sack of shit."

Megan jumped when the door suddenly opened.

"I thought I told you to go play outside," Martin said, closing the door.

The young girl was silent.

"We talked about this. Remember? Drake is only getting what he deserves."

"But he's always sad."

"He's just jealous because he's not perfect like you, sweetie." Martin squatted down and put his hand on her cheek with a smile, and suddenly, it was as if he were a completely different person - the one she knew and loved more than anything. "Who's my precious little princess?"

She couldn't help but smile at the attention her parent was giving her. "Me!"

"That's right. And you know what a princess's biggest job is?"

"Brushing her horsie's hair."

"No, but close. A princess's biggest job is to keep all the secrets safe, so you keep this a secret between you and me. Don't even tell your brother that you heard anything. Because if you tell anyone, I'm gonna get hurt, and then Drake's gonna get hurt. And you don't want your daddy to get hurt, do you?"

The child shook her head.

"Super secret pinkies?" Martin held out his pinkie finger, and Megan wrapped her own around his.

"Super secret pinkies." She leaned forwards and kissed her hand while he kissed his own, then they pulled apart.

"Alright, that's my girl." The man ruffled his fingers through her hair to mess it up as he pushed himself onto his feet. "Drake wasn't hungry. Looks like you get to pick dinner again tonight. What do you want?"

"Mmm, ice cream!" Megan's eyes lit up.

"How about chicken nuggets and mac and cheese?"

"Yeah, okay," she said. "After I eat my ice cream, though."

Martin smiled, then disappeared down the hall and into the kitchen.

Megan opened the door to her bedroom. She saw Drake sitting on the floor facing the wall opposite of her and holding her Barbie whilst observing his glue job. His muscles visibly tensed when he heard the door open, for he feared that his father had come back for more.

"Drake?"

His knees were to his chest, and he hugged them for comfort. The young boy sniffled and wiped his eyes to hide the fact that he'd been weeping. "Why did you tell?" he said, his voice expressing his lack of understanding of the cruel world around him. "I said I was sorry. I even promised to buy you a new one with my allowance." He then set the doll down onto the floor next to himself, and that's when Megan saw three dime-sized, red burns that Martin had left on him when he'd repeatedly pressed the metal end of the hot glue gun against the boy's skin.

"Drake-"

"Just leave me alone."

"I just-"

"Can't you take a fucking hint and go away?!" the thirteen-year-old exclaimed. "I don't want you here!"

"Excuse me?!"

Megan hadn't heard her father creep up behind her. She looked back at her brother, who had turned and was gazing up at the man with pure fear in his eyes.

"I-I..."

"I microwaved your dinner, Megan. It's on the table."

Her eyes moved over to her brother once more. He was staring at her with the most pleading eyes she had ever seen, and he shook his head.

"Go eat," Martin said firmly.

And Megan obeyed. She didn't want anything to happen to her father, and she didn't want anything to happen to her brother. She was scared. She was only six. All she knew was that the best thing to do was to try and ignore it. Once she was gone, the door was slammed closed.

"Who THE FUCK did you think you were talking to?!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Dad. Honest." Drake was stumbling over his words.

"You are NOTHING! You aren't even worthy to be the dirt on the bottom of your sister's shoe! So I don't know where you get off talking to her like that!"

"Please, don't punish me."

"Oh, you're gonna be punished all right. My fucking food is getting cold having to deal with your shit."

Drake held his hands up for protection when the man stomped across the room. His shirt was grabbed, and he was shoved against the dresser. "Ah!" His hair was snatched so that he was forced to look at his own reflection. He hissed at the pain in his scalp.

" _I am worthless._ Say it."

Drake gulped. "I am worthless."

"Good. Now I'm gonna go eat my fucking dinner and watch some tv with your sister, and you are gonna fucking stand here and keep repeating that to yourself. You don't move from this spot until I come back and tell you to. You hear me? And if I come in here and find out that you aren't obeying me, I will snap that little neck of yours like a twig. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Martin let him go with a rough shove, then he backed away a bit. He nodded his chin towards him. "Go on," he urged rudely.

"I am worthless. I-"

"Don't look at my reflection. Look at yourself."

The child met his own gaze like he had been instructed to do, then he continued. "I am worthless. I am worthless. I am worthless. I am worthless."

Martin turned and left the room.

"I am worthless."

He closed the door behind himself and even waited a full two minutes just to see if Drake would stop before finally joining Megan in the kitchen.

"I am worthless."

He'd checked on him after dinner and before watching television, and he still heard his voice emanating from the other side of the door.

"I am worthless."

After an entire Barbie Repunzel movie, Martin carried a sleeping Megan to her bed.

"I am worthless."

He was silent as he approached the door, for he wanted to catch the boy disobeying.

"I am worthless."

However, his son stood there staring at his own reflection with the most broken expression on his face as he repeated those same three words.

"I am worthless. I am worthless. I am worthless."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

* * *

Ricardo sniffled as he stared at his friend. Drake didn't deserve this. He was a selfish asshole sometimes, sure. But he had never done anything bad enough to make this a justified punishment. Even in his sleep, it was obvious that he was in a lot of pain. Drake had screamed at and cussed out every nurse and doctor in sight. He'd even begged them - like, actually begged - for some sort of pain medication. His doctor, Dr. Mido (the same Dr. Mido who had been assigned to him during his overdose) was hesitant to give him the meds because of Drake's ongoing struggle with addiction. Sometimes, it seemed simple: you should never let a man suffer. However, there was so much more at play here. Wasn't this little bit of pain better than a lifetime of suffering? Drake had argued that he was only stuck on cough medicine. He'd tried to convince the man that it wasn't a big deal. He wasn't getting clean any time soon whether he got the painkillers or not. Dr. Mido had suggested the possibility of these prescription drugs opening up a gateway for harder drugs, such as heroin. Drake had replied with, _"I have no friends! Where the fuck am I gonna get heroin?!"_ At one point, the doctor told the young man that it was on his file that he had requested to not be given any pain medications, but Drake had informed him that, _"My fucking dad said that! The last time he put me in the fucking hospital! He wanted me to suffer because I came here! You're still gonna let him fucking win?! Don't you see what he did to me?!"_ Finally, they had compromised. Dr. Mido promised to give him painkillers, but he couldn't promise that it would be much. Just enough to relieve a bit of pain.

So now Drake had finally managed to doze off. He hadn't been asleep long, and he'd already woken up twice in the last thirty minutes alone. Everything that had happened in the last couple hours was absolutely insane. Ricardo still couldn't even begin to wrap his head around it. Mr. Parker was dead, and Drake was laying in a hospital bed with a broken collar bone, a broken wrist, a broken fibula, a broken nose, a broken jaw, three severed fingers that were luckily still able to be reattached, three stab wounds, and several nasty-looking bruises. It wasn't fair. Martin shouldn't have gotten to have the easy way out. He should've rotted in prison. He should've gotten beaten and gang-raped every day for the rest of his life. That would've been true justice.

"Mm," Drake whimpered, his eyelids squeezing tightly together. He then opened them.

"You alright?" Ricardo asked with concern, scooting his chair even closer.

"I'm really hurting." His voice was a whisper because even straining to speak at a reasonable volume sent sharp aches throughout his body.

"I know, man. Is there anything I can do? Do you need me to fix your pillow? Are you comfortable?"

"I'm okay." His mouth was wired shut to allow his jaw time to heal. Drake hated not being able to talk plainly. He couldn't move anything other than his swollen lips.

"Maybe you should try to go back to sleep. You really need some rest."

Drake agreed. He closed his eyes again. His ears were ringing at the consistent beeping sound on the machine nearby. Every time he tried to fall asleep, he always wondered how he possibly could with all that racket, but somehow, he did it. "Hey, Ricky?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For staying. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Of course. I'm always here for you."

"I'm really sorry about how I acted-"

"Don't. None of that matters now. We're cool. Let's just skip the mushy stuff and do that bro thing where we just nod and suppress our emotions like douches."

Drake's lips curved upwards and he let go of a chuckle, which was soon replaced with a hiss and wince.

"You okay?"

"Can you hand me my water?"

Ricardo stood and grabbed his cup that the hospital had given him. "It's empty. I'll go get some more." The man left the room, then closed the door quietly behind him. He didn't make it far before he was approached.

"Ricardo, is that Drake you're with?" Megan asked.

"Jesus, where did you come from?"

"I've been waiting to see. I thought I heard him earlier, but I wasn't really sure. Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's..." He couldn't meet her eyes. All he could think about was the fact that her father was dead at this very moment and she had no idea. Was he supposed to tell her that? "He's not great. But he's Drake, you know. He'll pull through."

"What happened to him?"

"Where are your parents? They should know that he's here."

"They're down that way." She pointed down the hall. "Quite a ways."

"Maybe you should go get them."

"Mom can't leave her room right now, but I'll get Walter."

* * *

Walter looked out of breath when he made it to Drake's room. His panic mixed with his fast-walking made him short of breath. The second he saw his step-son, his jaw dropped. He stepped inside, his feet dragging. He felt sick to his stomach. "What the hell happened?!" he said with pain in his voice.

"Oh my God," Josh said from behind him.

Ricardo stood from the chair that he had been sitting in. Since Drake had fallen back to sleep when he'd disappeared for a water run, he moved over to the two. He was relieved to see that they had left Megan behind.

"How did this happen?!" Walter asked again.

Ricardo didn't even know how to begin. "It's... There's some things...you need to know about. It was...it was his dad."

" _Martin_ did this?!" Walter looked on with disbelief. "I don't understand. I don't... Why would he do this to his own son? There's no way he would possibly...even be capable of..." He shook his head.

"When Drake was talking to the police earlier, he said something about a car accident involving his mom. He said it had set Mr. Parker off."

Walter's body was filling with rage. "Where is that son of a bitch? I'm gonna kill him." He turned to leave the room, but Ricardo grabbed his arm, so he met his eyes again.

"Um...he's..." The man shook his head. "He's gone."

"What do you mean gone?" Josh questioned, his voice shaky with nerves.

"I mean...he's dead."

"Jesus Christ!" Walter exclaimed quietly, still mindful of the sleeping boy. He knew that he wouldn't be able to get anymore information out of Ricardo once Drake wakes up.

"Drake was in a situation where it was either himself or Mr. Parker. He'd already been stabbed three times, and his dad was trying to strangle him. He said he was just trying to get him to let go, but he must've accidentally hit an artery or something because..."

"Oh my God." Walter looked horrified. It was devastating to hear what his son had gone through.

"I still don't understand," Josh said. "Why would Martin want to hurt him?"

Ricardo turned and watched his friend for a moment to make sure that he was still sleeping, then he faced the two men standing before him. "Drake will be pissed if he finds out I told you this but..." He had to tell them. He'd leaned his lesson on keeping quiet about these sorts of matters. "Drake's dad was... Drake was a victim of on-going violent physical...and _sexual_ abuse."

Walter lost it then. He was absolutely crushed. He'd invited Martin over for Christmas dinner! And this is how he repays him? This is how he treats his family?! And what about Megan? She's been around him unsupervised plenty of times!

"How long?" Walter asked, but he had a hundred other questions. "You knew about this?"

"I...I didn't know about the sexual abuse. I just heard the police ask him about some explicit pictures and a video they found in Mr. Parker's room. I did find out that his dad was hitting him, though. And I really regret not saying anything. Drake always asked me not to, and no one thought Mr. Parker would snap like he did."

Although Josh had an idea, he needed specific answers. "What were the pictures of?"

"I don't know. I didn't look. Drake was really ashamed of them, though. He wanted to trash them, but they said they'd have to keep them for evidence."

"How long has this been going on?" He took charge of the questioning because he saw that his father was too broken up at the moment to do so.

"He told the police that the physical abuse started when he was thirteen. He said his dad blamed him for the divorce."

"And the...other thing?" Josh said. "How long has that been going on?"

"He said it started about two and a half years ago."

"Jesus Christ..."

Walter finally spoke up again. "What kind of sexual abuse was it?"

"What?"

"Was he touched inappropriately? Was it oral? Was it full-on penetration?"

"Uh..." Ricardo felt uncomfortable with the question, but he answered it. "He was raped."

"Goddamnit!"

"Dad," Josh said to remind him to stay quiet.

"I think it was really all of those, though. He said Mr. Parker made him say and do things during the...during the sexual assault. To his dad. To himself. Or else he would pretty much torture him."

"That goddamn trailer trash piece of sh... How many times? How many times did it happen?"

"Drake said it was, like, once in a blue moon at first. But it got worse when he stayed with him over the summer. And then it became almost daily when he started living with him again."

The father and son spoke at the exact same time.

Josh: "Daily?!"

Walter: "Living with him?!"

The oldest man in the room continued. "You mean to tell me he's been at his father's the entire time?!" When Ricardo nodded, he said, "That's impossible. Megan stays over on the weekends."

"He would either find someone else to stay with or his dad would lock him in the basement until Megan was gone."

"So basically Martin held Drake hostage from us?" said Josh.

Ricardo sighed. "It was my understanding that it was Drake's idea. His dad allowed him to freely get high there. He even let him have the money for his pills sometimes. Drake thought you guys would only try to stop him."

Josh wanted to cry right now, but his father already was, and one of them needed to be strong. He placed his hand on his dad's shoulder.

"I can't handle this right now," Walter said. "What am I supposed to tell Audrey? What am I supposed to tell Megan? Her father's dead."

Ricardo looked down at the floor with a shrug. He had no words to offer. What could he possibly say to make this situation better? He couldn't even begin to imagine what Walter was going through. His wife was in the hospital, and now his son was, too. Breaking the news to Audrey and Megan would be hard. It was a position that Ricardo didn't envy.

Ricardo said, "I can...I can leave...if you want some time alone. He's been waking up every fifteen minutes or so."

Walter shook his head. "No, Drake shouldn't be alone, and I don't think I can be here right now. This is too much."

Ricky nodded his head.

"If you don't mind staying," Josh added.

"No, of course. I'll stay as long as he needs me."

Walter patted his bicep. "Thanks. You're a really good friend. I'm glad Drake has you in his life."

Ricardo nodded shyly, then watched as the two left. He turned back to the sleeping boy, then sat down in the same spot he had been in for the past couple hours.

* * *

Drake groaned, and his face contorted with pain.

Ricardo, who had dozed off, snapped to and leaned forwards in his chair. "Hey, you alright?"

"Oh, shit," Drake whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"Is it time for more pain meds yet?"

It wasn't anywhere close to time, but Ricardo wasn't going to tell him that. "Not yet."

"God, this sucks." he whined. "I can't believe I have to go through this again. The first time almost killed me." He scooted himself up, for he was trying to get comfortable and find a better resting position.

"Let me help you." Ricky stood and offered his assistance. When he was done, he asked, "You thirsty?"

When he saw the boy nod, he grabbed his cup and held it for him. He pointed the straw towards his friend's lips. Drake put his lips on it, and since his jaw was wired shut, he had to suck the liquid through his teeth. He wasn't sure when he'd last had anything to drink, so he sipped in a lot - probably too much, for he started coughing.

"Take it easy."

Drake squeezed his eyes closed as his body jerked with each deep cough. He felt pain all over: his stomach, his shoulder blade, his entire back, his collar bone area, his wrist, his hand, his face. Ricardo grabbed a paper towel, then wiped the water from Drake's chin.

"Thanks," the boy said sheepishly.

"Don't mention it."

"I feel so helpless."

"Shut up. You're gonna be helpless for a while, so you might as well get over the embarrassment of having someone feed you and help you do everything now."

"Maybe you should work on your bedside manner."

Ricardo flashed a smile, then sat down again. "You slept a lot longer this time."

"I wish I could just sleep forever."

The man didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. He watched Drake, who stared blankly at the wall. They were quiet for a while, but the younger of the two finally spoke up.

"My dad's dead."

Ricardo took in a breath, then slowly let it out. "Yeah," he whispered.

Drake's eyes welled up with tears. At first, it seemed as though he was holding it together, but instead, he suddenly fell apart.

"Hey, hey," Ricardo whispered, touching his forearm. "Try not to get upset."

"How am I supposed to tell Megan that her dad is dead? That I killed him?"

"You did what you had to do. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here right now."

"I should've let him kill me."

"Don't say that."

"He was so good to her, and I'm so shit. Why am I even here anyways? My life is so pointless. I am worthless."

"You're not worthless!" Ricardo stood, then sat down on the edge of his bed. He felt like maybe being right in his face would help to get his point across. "I fucking love you, bruh. I couldn't even begin to imagine my life without you and all your chaos."

Drake lifted his eyebrows and smiled appreciatively as a tear quickly raced down his cheek. He sniffled. "You're saying _bruh_ now?"

Ricardo laughed. "Julio's stupid slang words are starting to rub off on me. That's what I get for trying to use them ironically against him."

Drake really appreciated his friend's presence. He couldn't even imagine having to be here alone with his thoughts. Ricardo made everything better.

"God, I need to stop being a little bitch." He sniffled, then reached up with his good arm and wiped at his wet cheeks. "I'm crying every five fucking minutes."

"I mean, at least you said it." Ricardo playfully expressed a look of innocence.

Drake let go of a laugh. "Fuck you."

Ricky smirked. "No, but in all serious, though, you are the toughest guy I know. Honestly, I would be bawling my eyes out if I were you. I mean, Jesus, you should've seen me when I had to get those shots after that snake bit me a couple years ago. Oh my God, and the I.V." He shivered at the thought. "I fucking hate needles."

Drake smiled at the mental image he had in his head. He remembered Julio telling him that all the nurses had been irritated and thought that Ricardo was being a big baby. It had all been so insane to him because Ricky was like a rock. He fearlessly stepped in the middle of fights and kicked people out of his bar all the time. To Drake, needles hurt a thousand times less than punches. His dad's fist hurt more than most things. Well, now he'd never have to feel that same pain again.

As the memories of the past left Drake's mind and the stress of his current situation flooded his thoughts again, his face fell. Ricardo saw this and tried a coping tactic other than humor.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Drake's red eyes watered over yet again in less than one second, but he was able to keep the tears from falling. "I just have a hundred different things running through my head, and my mind is racing, and I don't wanna say anything because I don't want you to feel guilty for keeping my secret."

Ricardo sighed as their conversation took on a more serious turn. "I'm gonna feel guilty no matter what. I could've stopped it. I didn't know it was _that_ bad. I mean, when I would see you, you always had a new black eye or a new bruise, but I just thought maybe he hit you every now and then. I didn't know how much you were hiding under your jacket until last summer, and when I found out, I still didn't stop it. And I didn't know about..." At first, he didn't want to say it. He knew that it would make Drake uncomfortable now that everything was out in the open, and his friend probably wanted Ricardo to pretend he'd never heard him talk to the police about it, but Ricky needed him to know that it wasn't something that Drake should be ashamed about, so he put it out there to open up a doorway in case the boy needed to get some things off of his chest. "...the sexual assault."

It was a big deal. Ricky knew that, if Drake didn't talk about it with him, then he wouldn't talk about it at all, and it wasn't healthy for him to feel the need to go through it alone and bottle things up. That hadn't worked out so well after Meelah had died. Drake's self-isolation and erratic behavior is what had led to the young man's suicide attempt, and Ricardo was damn sure not going to allow that to happen again.

"I'm so embarrassed," Drake said, averting his watery eyes.

"And I understand that. I..." Ricardo paused briefly, and then he started speaking. "I've never told anyone this. But you know how mine and Julio's parents have that heavy Catholic background, and how we practically spent more of our childhood at church than with friends? And then I broke away from the church and got involved in a gang and had a lot of legal trouble?"

Drake remembered because a super young Julio had always talked about how badass his older brother was up until he found out that Ricardo had landed himself in jail for nearly beating someone to death.

"The reason I rebelled so hard against the church and everything that I knew to be right was because one of the priests used to touch me inappropriately. It's the stereotypical pedophile priest story. I was so ashamed that I never told the police, I never told my parents, and I never told Julio. I've kept that inside of me for almost fifteen years. So I know what you're going through. I know what it's like to feel completely powerless and weak."

Drake's bottom lip quivered no matter how hard he tried to stiffen it.

"And it took me so long to realize that I was actually neither of those things. I survived that. I went through one hell of a rough patch because of it, but I straightened myself out in prison. I became the best possible version of myself that I could be, and I want that for you." This was the first time that Ricardo had opened up to anyone about his past, and talking about it had him in tears. "Whatever you do from this point on, do it because it's what _you_ want. Don't you dare let him hold you back anymore. And I swear to you, the second you let go of everything and find your self-worth and fall in love with who you are as a person, you're gonna feel so free."

A strangled sob left Drake's lips and the dam behind his eyelids broke, releasing endless streams of tears. His voice cracked so much that it was almost impossible to understand him when he said, "But it's so hard." He allowed his friend to pull him into a hug even though it wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world. "I just want to die," he admitted.

"But what about your mom? What about Megan and your brother and your step-dad? What about Mindy and Kenzly? What about me and Julio and Stevie? What about everyone who loves you and cares about you and prays for you and thinks about you every single day? We're all rooting for you, I swear. And believe me, I know how exhausting it is to keep fighting, but if you give up now, you're letting your dad win, and you'll be hurting people so much more than he's convinced you that you are now just by being alive. Everything he's ever said to you was a lie." He could feel the young man's torso shaking against his own as they cried together. "Think about Meelah. She was always honest, no matter how brutal the truth was. Did she ever even once tell you that your life wasn't worth living?"

Drake was too much of an emotional wreck to answer him.

"She only ever wanted all the best for you. No matter how you felt about yourself or what your dad told you, she always thought you deserved to be happy. And I guarantee you, she's looking down at you and wishing that she could tell you how proud she is of you and how much she loves you."

Sobs left Drake with those words.

"She would want you to stay here. She would want you to keep fighting. She would want you to better yourself and to stay strong for your family. They are the ones who need you right now. Julio needs you here. I need you. You mean so much more to us than you could ever understand, so when you feel down, you remember that. Okay?"

When Ricardo pulled away, Drake nodded his head. He wiped his eyes and sniffled. "Thanks, Ricky," he said.

"It's Ricardo," the man corrected, and he felt good when he saw a small smile creep up on Drake's lips. "And you know that you can talk to me about absolutely anything because you're not alone."

The young man nodded, then thanked him again.

"I love you, bruh."

Drake smiled through his tears. "I love you, too." He laughed at how unmanly they sounded, but he didn't mind it.

* * *

Josh softly wrapped his knuckles against the door, then pushed it open. He stepped inside the room and saw Ricardo standing in front of the large window and gazing out at the world below. The man turned to him, then made his way across the room as not to wake his sleeping friend.

"How is he?" Josh whispered.

"He's in a lot of pain. He popped some of his stitches open earlier, so they had to sew the wound on his stomach back up."

Josh looked past him and at his brother, who was laying on the hospital bed. Even during his slumber, it was obvious just how much pain he was in.

"But he's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, they said he'll pull through just fine," Ricardo said. "They've gotta do surgery, though. For his broken wrist. I think they have to put screws in or something. I'm not sure. But the doctor hasn't even been in yet to schedule the surgery. They said it would be a couple days."

"Jesus," Josh said.

He really didn't know what to say. It was hard to even think of his brother the same now that he knew a bunch of secrets that Drake had been lying to him about since he'd met him. Did he know who Drake was at all?

"Why don't I give you two some time?"

"No, it's okay. I was just coming to check on him. I don't wanna kick you out."

Ricardo could see that the boy, like his step-father, didn't like to be in this room, but he wasn't going to let them keep pretending that everything was fine. "No, it's okay. I haven't eaten all day. I'm gonna run to Chick-Fil-A and grab some dinner. Drake will appreciate the company." He went over to the sink counter and grabbed his keys. "Have you eaten? You want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'm okay." He was still uneasy about being left alone with his brother. "Thanks."

"If Drake wakes up while I'm gone, don't tell him where I went to eat. He's been begging me for Chick-Fil-A all day, but the doctors have him on a liquid diet right now because of his jaw. Don't let him talk you into giving him anything."

Josh nodded, and when Ricardo was gone, he looked at his brother. He prayed that Drake stayed asleep until his friend returned. He had no idea what to say to him. How was he supposed to face him after everything? No wonder he was a drug addict. How else could he possibly cope with the things he had gone through: frequent beatings, daily rapes? Drake had only ever needed someone to be there for him, but instead, he was put down and scolded and judged by his own family. He couldn't even begin to imagine how lonely his step-brother must've felt. This was a rough year for Drake. First, he felt personally at fault for Meelah's death, and then he'd been forced to kill his own father just to stay alive. The positive side to all of this was that this proves that Drake still has fight left in him. If he had truly wanted to die, he wouldn't have made it out of that one-on-one showdown that had taken place in his father's bedroom.

However, it was hard to focus on the light at the end of the tunnel when there were so many downsides. Thank God for Mindy. Josh had no idea how he could've gotten through this without her. She was so strong, and she did everything she could to help keep this family together. Telling Megan had been so hard. They didn't go into details about the severity or the frequency. He and Walter had been beyond shocked when Megan had admitted, while crying, that she'd known about her father hitting Drake. Walter had actually taken the news pretty hard. He couldn't fathom why on earth she hadn't said anything. He didn't blame her, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel like she was partly responsible for what had happened to his step-son. If she would've said something, maybe this could've been prevented. Walter had let up on her after seeing her reaction to learning about the sexual assault. The guilt she felt was clear as day. She swore that her father had never hit her or touched her in that way, but everyone was so rattled by all of this news that Drake had kept secret for so long that it was hard to decipher who was telling the truth anymore.

Josh and Mindy had stayed to comfort Megan while Walter asked to break the news to Audrey on his own. Everyone was crying. Everyone was feeling guilty and angry. Everyone was throwing blame: at each other, at themselves, at Martin, even at Drake. But no one was here. No one had come to see him. No one could face him. In Audrey's defense, she'd been cussing out everyone she needed to in order to get herself and Drake moved into a room together, but they kept claiming that all duo rooms were occupied.

Josh sighed. How on earth _was Drake able to fool us all for so long?! Obviously, we just weren't paying enough attention._ It didn't make any sense, though. All his parents ever talked (or, more correctly, argued) about was Drake.. Josh used to be jealous of all the attention his brother had received even when he wasn't there. It made him feel guilty for ever hating him.

Drake had been so emotionally destroyed after the abuse that he kept having to get high to forget. This had become a cycle. He moved in with his father knowing what would happen to him if he did, but knowing he'd be okay as long as he could get high afterwards. And even after everything was over, how could anyone expect Drake to get clean now when he felt responsible for two different deaths?

"Mmm."

 _Oh, God, no, he's waking up._

"Ah! Ah!" Drake groaned as he repositioned his shoulder until he could find it a more comfortable place to rest. When he did, he looked over to where Ricardo always sat, but he found his brother there instead. He smiled. "Josh."

He didn't realize that he'd been on the verge of crying until now because he felt embarrassed about it now that Drake was awake. "Hey." He sniffled.

Even through his smile, the pain he felt was still clear on his face. So was the fact that he was a tad bit high on the painkillers. "I was just dreaming about you," he slurred, the wired jaw distracting Josh from what he was saying. "We were on a magic carpet, and we had to take it through the car wash, but it had a forcefield, so we didn't get wet. Is it time for more meds yet?"

"I don't...think so." Josh figured that a nurse would come in whenever it was time.

"Where's Ricky?" Drake asked, reaching for the remote that had the nurse button on it. "That bastard went to Chick-Fil-A without me, didn't he?" Somehow after pressing it, it slipped out of his hand and landed on the floor with a loud crash.

Josh ignored the question because, now that his brother was awake, he needed answers. "What happened?"

"I dropped the..." Drake tried to lean forwards to estimate how far down the floor was and assess whether or not he could reach. "-fucking remote."

Josh picked it up for him. "That's not what I meant."

The boy's eyes squeezed closed tightly as he leaned back against the pillow. "Oh, shit." When he caught his breath, he lifted his hospital gown and observed his injury.

Josh peeked at the knife wound, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn't even begin to imagine how much it had hurt - physically and emotionally. "Geez..."

"This is nothing," Drake said. "The worst part was not being able to move or do anything while he cut off my fingers."

Josh looked at the wrap around his left hand, which was elevated. He had noticed it, but he and Walter had been so distraught over the sudden news that neither had actually asked for a list of Drake's injuries.

"They sewed them back on, but he said I can't play guitar anymore. They said that last time and I was able to. It's just my strum hand anyway. I don't know, though. This wrist is fucked." He held up his right arm.

"I don't understand. How are you talking about all of this like it's whatever to you?"

"I might be a liiiiiittle high." Drake smirked, and at that moment, there was a double knock on the door. He watched as a young brunette nurse walked in. "Oh, great. Is it time for my pain medicine yet?"

"We had this conversation thirty minutes ago. Remember?" She had a cute southern accent that Drake never got tired of hearing. "Didn't I just give you your medicine?"

Drake had no idea. It didn't feel like it.

"I even wrote the times on the board for you." She pointed at the whiteboard that was hanging on the wall. Above the times was her name: Nurse Deanna. "So that you wouldn't keep calling me in here every five minutes."

"But I get so lonely when you're not here," he said in a joking manner.

She shook her head, but couldn't help but grin at his constant flirtatiousness. "Goodnight, Drake."

Josh caught his step-brother eyeing the nurse as she left the room.

"Jesus, she's hot as fuck."

Some things never change.

* * *

"You bitch," Drake said as Ricardo dropped his keys onto the counter. "You snuck out while I was sleeping."

The man nodded his head towards him. "How long's be been up?"

"Almost the entire time you were gone." Josh got out of the chair. "I'm gonna head back to my mom's room."

"Aw, you're leaving?" Drake said.

"Yeah. I left my phone. I'm sure they're all wondering where I am. I was just gonna drop by for a few minutes."

It was obvious to Ricardo that Josh felt as though he couldn't get out of there fast enough. In fact, he was already halfway out the door.

"See ya later. Bye."

Drake didn't even have time to return his goodbye before the door closed. Ricardo felt bad as he looked at Drake, but then he remembered that the boy was feeling just fine right now thanks to his medication.

"So did you bring me some chicky nugs or what?"

* * *

Ricardo turned away from the television with a smile when a commercial came on, interrupting whatever comedy they had been watching. He looked at Drake, who was gazing out the window. His smile faded. "What's up? You seem stressed."

Drake shrugged. "Nothing."

"No, tell me."

"I just - I owe this guy some money, and if I don't get it to him today..." Drake looked at his lap. "He's already threatened to hurt my family if I don't pay him." He met the man's eyes. "I hate asking because you've done so much for me already, but do you think maybe you could meet up with him, and I swear I will pay you back as soon as I can?"

"How much do you owe him?"

"Five hundred."

Ricardo blew air out of his mouth after hearing that amount, but he did have some money saved up. "Yeah. I'll pay it."

The relief was evident on Drake's face. "I swear I'll give it back."

After getting the address, Ricardo left the hospital room, and for the first time since he'd arrived, Drake was alone. Although he was grateful that his friend was going to help him out, he had no idea what he would do next week or the week after that. Would Molly want to have sex with him like this? Maybe so. She did enjoy role-playing quite a bit. Would he even be cleared for such a physical activity by the doctor? Would he even be out of the hospital by then?

He tried to push those thoughts out of his mind and focus on the fact that, for today, he didn't have to worry.

* * *

"I can come up there."

"I don't know if he's really up for visitors right now," Ricardo said to his brother over the phone as he stepped off of the elevator. "He's been through a lot of shit, and he's really embarrassed about it."

"I can't believe this is happening. It all just came out of nowhere."

"I know. If you talk to Stevie, I don't think you should go into detail about anything. Drake probably doesn't want the whole world to know."

"Yeah, of course."

"I haven't even told him that I told his family what happened."

"They haven't come to see him?"

"Josh has, but, you know, Drake was on his meds, so I don't think he remembers that at all."

"Shit."

When Drake's room was in sight, he decided to end his phone call. "I've gotta go, but I'll tell him you wanna come see him."

"Alright, see ya, bruh."

When Ricardo opened the door, he came face-to-face with a doctor.

"Whoops. Excuse me," the man said, then he left the room.

Ricky closed the door behind him. "Who was that?"

"The guy that's gonna do my wrist surgery. He came to schedule it."

"When is it?"

"Sunday," Drake said, then he changed the subject. "How'd it go?"

"Fine. He said he'd give you some time off before your next payment, but your interest is gonna go up."

"Shit, how'd you manage that?"

"I told you. I used to hang around people like him before I went to prison. You just have to know how to talk to them," Ricardo said. "And Rashaad was actually the guy who left without me when the police showed up, ultimately leading to my arrest. He kinda owed me one."

"You know Rashaad?"

"He's killed someone just for looking at him the wrong way. These guys are not people you should be associating with. You need to pay them off and get the hell out of there. He told me that the only reason you're alive still is because Meelah's brother keeps vouching for you. Eventually, his influence over them is gonna run out."

The young man nodded, his heartbeat quickening. "Thanks for going for me. And listen, I really appreciate you staying, but if you need to get back to work-"

"No, I'm taking some time off. I'm using some of my vacation days." He walked over to the window and leaned against the sill. He could see that his friend had a lot on his mind. "What are you thinking about?"

"Have you told my family that I'm here?"

The man sighed. "Yeah. I ran into Megan yesterday."

"How much did you tell them?" Drake didn't meet his eyes.

"I told them everything," he said honestly.

He'd expected it, but it still sucked because now he was going to have to figure out how to go from here while carrying around that baggage everywhere he goes. "I think they hate me. For what I did to Mom."

"They don't hate you."

"Then why aren't they here?"

Ricardo crossed his arms. "They just...they took the news really hard. It's a lot to process."

"They're ashamed of me and they hate me," Drake disagreed. "And now that you've told them everything, they think I'm disgusting and they're pissed that I've lied to them this whole time."

"Shut your fucking mouth, alright?" Ricky scolded. "Your family is the nicest family I have ever met, and they love you. But yeah, they probably are pretty pissed that you never told them, but they don't hate you for it. They just feel guilty. They're probably over there thinking that _you_ hate _them_. They feel like it's their fault."

"I just want my mom," Drake said. "But I'm too scared to face her."

Ricardo understood his guilt and embarrassment.

"When you were younger and that stuff happened, what would you have done if everyone would've found out?"

The man let go of his breath. "I don't know, to be honest." Nothing good would've come of it. That's for sure.

"What do you do when you feel like the life you've set up for yourself has crashed and burned?"

"You start over."


	15. Shame

_(1 week later)_

Drake stood, placing all of his weight onto his uninjured leg. He couldn't do much with one arm in a sling and the other wrapped in a cast, but he tried his best to pull up his sweatpants. Ricardo was grabbing one shoe out of the bag of things Julio had allowed him to bring. He stood and turned to see his friend struggling, so he went over to him and helped him pull up his pants. The man then rolled up the left leg until he reached the top of the cast, which came up to Drake's knee. After that, he grabbed the strings and pulled the waistband tighter, then tied them together. Drake was much smaller than Julio, so the clothes were too big, but Ricardo was much more muscular, so his pants would've slipped right off of Drake. He was honestly surprised that the boy's family had never come around. He knew that it was hard to see Drake like this and that they felt guilty. He understood. Ricardo felt that way as well, but he was here every single day and every single night. Megan had texted him a couple of times (she still had his number from back when he would drop by their father's to see if anyone had heard from Drake) asking for an update. He understood that her parents didn't let her come because they didn't want her to see what her dad had done to Drake, and Audrey wasn't in the best shape to be moved, but Ricardo was really disappointed in Walter and Josh for not showing up in the little over a week that Drake had been here.

"Thanks," Drake said quietly with a slight hint of embarrassment as he sat back down onto the bed. He took the tennis shoe from Ricky, bent his good knee up to his chest, and slipped it on. He struggled to tie it, but he managed to do it on his own.

When he was finished with that, he removed the sling from his arm so that he could take off his gown. His friend started to help him through the sleeves, but Drake stopped him.

"I got it."

Ricardo backed off then, and Drake started to feel bad. He hadn't meant for it to come out so rudely. The man had been such a big help this past week, but he just hated the fact that he couldn't do a lot for himself. He at least wanted to try.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, I get it," Ricardo said. "I forgot you were stubborn as hell."

Drake cracked a grin, and at that moment, there was a knock at the door. It opened, and Walter stepped inside. The young man quickly turned his back to him as he grabbed Julio's shirt off of the bed. He didn't want him to see the words his father had branded into his skin. Out of all of his scars, that was the one he was most ashamed of.

"How are you?" Walter asked.

"I'm fine."

While the young man struggled with his shirt, Walter examined the knife wounds and the bruises all over the boy's back. "Megan told me that you were being released today."

Drake made eye contact with Ricardo for a moment to see if he was the one giving Megan updates. Although it wasn't really a secret, the man had never brought it up to Drake, and it didn't really seem like the young man cared anyway.

"Where were you planning on going?"

"Does it matter?" Drake said, finally covering his torso with his shirt. "As long as I'm out of your hair, right?"

Ricardo knew that his friend was pissed that his own family hadn't come to see him, but he also could understand what they were going through, so he felt bad when he heard Drake being a dick and trying to make Walter feel even guiltier. "I'm gonna go down to the vending machine," Ricky said. "Drake, you want anything?"

"Nah. Thanks." He went over to his bag and started putting his belongings inside. He kept his back to his step-dad.

Walter spoke again after Ricardo was gone. "I want you to come back home."

"Yeah, I bet."

"Drake, I'm serious."

"You sounded pretty serious to me when you told me to fuck off."

"I was angry. I still am," Walter admitted. "But now I know why you're like this."

"You think I use because of my dad?" Drake zipped up his bag, then took a seat on the bed to rest his leg. "I used because, every single day of my life, I had to deal with my family shitting all over me. I was always doing something wrong in your eyes. I never belonged there."

"Despite what you may think, we all really love you."

"Dad has said that to me before, too," Drake said. "And I still believe that he meant it. But you see how that turned out. Love doesn't mean shit anymore."

"I don't wanna argue with you, Drake. I know you may hate me right now, but I stand by all the choices I've made. Maybe one day when you grow up, you'll understand how hard it is to be a parent. There's no instruction book. It's just you and your gut instinct. I thought that if you spent time on your own, you'd see how hard it was and how unrealistic it was to live a comfortable life while using drugs. Maybe it had the opposite effect on you. That's not my fault. That was your choice, and I still stick by my decision because I couldn't have that going on under my roof...right in front of your little sister. You know that."

Drake appreciated his honesty and commitment even though he didn't show it.

"I'm just asking that you come back home. We want the old Drake back. If you hate us and can't stand to be around us unless you're high, then tell us exactly what the problem is so that we can make a compromise. We want to work _with_ you. We just need you to be willing to meet us halfway."

"I don't hate you. I just..." Drake hung his head because he felt his eyes water over and he hated looking so vulnerable. "Why weren't you here?"

Walter crossed the room, then sat down next to him. "It's just hard," he said, "to look at you and know that I've failed. We've never really had much of a relationship, and I never really bothered to try and change that. I can't help but feel that if I had been there for you, maybe you would've confided in me about what you were dealing with at your dad's. Or maybe not. But if I were closer to you, I might have picked up on things you said or the way you acted and figured out that something was wrong. I didn't uphold my duty to you as a father, and it's just been so hard for me to forgive myself."

All this time, Drake had thought he'd stayed away because he hated him for the car crash that had left Audrey with severe injuries.

"I want that to change," Walter said. "And maybe it's too soon for fishing trips and car shows, but if you come back home, I could try to be the father figure that you've always needed. Because no matter what he's told you, what happened to you was not your fault, and it wasn't something that you deserved."

Drake's knee-jerk reaction was to say something to make Walter feel bad. He always did everything he could to burn all ties to anyone who could potentially get in between himself and Charlie, but maybe he was ready to let that happen. _Maybe._ He wasn't sure yet (which probably meant that he would get high the second he got out of here). But there was still a chance.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Drake said. "With Josh and Mindy and just everything that's happened."

"I think Josh would be happy if you'd come back home. He misses you," Walter said, then he watched the boy and waited for an answer. "Come home," he urged.

"Just because I want to get clean, it doesn't mean I won't mess up. If we're really doing this, I just need to know that I won't be put out on the streets again if I relapse. At least, not without a head's up or something."

"Deal. And all I ask from you is that you try."

Drake nodded his head as he looked down at the small hole in Julio's sweatpants. Softly, he said, "Okay."

"And also," Walter said after standing and turning back to the boy, gaining Drake's eyes, "when you're back under our roof, please, be sure to watch your language."

"Right," the boy said, and every dispute he'd ever had with Walter player through his mind. "Sorry."

"When you finish all the paperwork, you wanna stop by your mom's room? I can drive you home so you can rest."

"Ricky will drop me off."

"Your mom would really like to see you before you go."

Again, he averted his eyes. "I don't think I can," he said honestly. "Not yet anyway."

"Okay, but just remember the way you felt when no one came to visit you. That's how she feels about you."

Drake nodded, then accepted a pat on his good shoulder before Walter left the room.

* * *

"Here, let me help." Ricardo lifted Drake's leg and cautiously laid it on top of the stack of pillows to keep it elevated. "You good?"

"Yeah." Drake tried to reach behind himself to fluff and better position the pillow that was behind his back.

Without being asked to, the man jumped in and did it for him. "Better?"

Drake nodded. "Thanks."

To Drake's surprise, Ricardo took a seat in the recliner after passing his friend the remote controller. The boy looked at him.

"Don't you have shit to do?"

"You don't want me here?"

"No, I do. I just - I know you have better things to do with your life than babysitting me. If you're worried that I'm gonna use, I mean, look at me. I'm not gonna be going anywhere anytime soon."

Drake greatly appreciated everything that his best friend's older brother did for him. He'd love the company, but he could see how tired the man was. He hadn't left his side for longer than an hour for over a week. Drake was honestly surprised that anyone could put up with him for so long.

"I'll be fine here if you wanna check on Julio or the bar or just get some sleep."

"You just got back home. I don't think it's a good idea to leave you by yourself after everything. What if you get upset or you fall or something?"

Drake lifted his cell phone that he'd just gotten for Christmas. "You'll be the first to know about it."

Ricardo seemed to ponder this in his head before he gave in. "Alright. I could really use a break from you anyway."

"Fuck you."

The man smiled. "Need me to grab anything for you before I go?"

"Could you maybe get the covers off of my bed upstairs?"

When his friend disappeared, Drake picked up the remote controller that was on his stomach. He pointed it at the television, then started flipping through the channels. He had watched way more television in the past week than he probably had in the last two months combined. That's all he ever did in the hospital - that and sleep and talk to Ricardo. That man had kept him sane. He was so kind and selfless, and Drake couldn't imagine having to be cooped up in a room with anyone else. Ricardo never judged him. He talked him through things when he needed it. He made him laugh when he needed it. Most importantly, even though Ricky insisted on waiting on him hand and foot, he didn't feel as though their relationship had changed like Drake's relationships with Walter and Josh. He dreaded seeing them again and getting used to watching them act as though they were walking on egg shells around him. He didn't know how he would get through the discomfort without having Charlie around, but he would have to get creative.

"Here you go." Ricardo was back, and he handed the boy his comforter. "Hey, give me your phone."

"Why?" the young man asked, but he passed it over anyway because he trusted his friend. He watched as Ricky pulled out his own cellular device and looked back and forth from screen to screen while typing on his.

After a moment, the man tossed it back, and Drake caught it when it landed against his stomach. He looked up at the man questioningly.

"You said Walter's gonna be home in a couple of hours?"

"Yeah..." His confusion was clear as day.

"I put his number in my phone. When he gets here, tell him to text me and I'll tell him where upstairs I hid your pain meds because-"

Drake's face fell. "Come on."

" _Because_ ," he said with emphasis so that the boy would stop talking and listen to him, "because I know you. You've already taken some, so you'll be fine until he gets here. If there's some sort of emergency or he doesn't show, call me, and we'll discuss it."

"Ricky-"

"It's Ricardo. And I'm just doing this because I care."

Drake knew in his heart that it was the best idea, but it still pissed him off because that was exactly what he'd planned on doing the second his friend walked out the door. However, he knew he couldn't lash out because the man had called his bluff and he wasn't wrong. "You're so annoying."

Ricardo chuckled. "I can accept that." He picked up his car keys. "Call me later."

"Fuck you." He was expressing his irritation, but Ricardo knew that he didn't mean it and that he was truly grateful for everything he had done for him.

The man slipped on his jacket. "Don't fucking make me regret leaving. You're the one who told me you wanted to get clean. I'm not making you. If you changed your mind, tell me now so I'm not disappointed later."

"No, I'm gonna quit."

Ricardo smiled. "I'm proud of you."

It was easier said than done, so Drake never really listened when people said those words to him. He turned on Netflix, then found _It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia_. To further annoy him, Ricky gave him a noogie on the top of his head and messed up his hair. Drake couldn't do much to fight against it since he was in a sling.

"Piss off."

The man laughed as he pulled away. "Catch me if you can," he teased, only taking a couple steps away since Drake couldn't chase after him.

"Fucking prick." Drake fixed his hair.

"I'll see you later."

"Asshole."

* * *

 **Drake: bring movie**

 **Kenzly: what movie**

 **Drake: wutevr Donnie Darko or anythin jake gylenhall**

 **Kenzly: your mancrush**

 **Drake: id go down on him 4 shure**

 **Kenzly: his ankles r broken 4 sure**

 **Kenzly: im jelly**

 **Kenzly: no wait guessie what i bought**

 **Drake: ccc's 4 me plez**

 **Kenzly: sike. no. clue: its new and a movie**

 **Drake: idk havnt relly. ket up w movies**

 **Kenzly: then i guess ull just have to wait ;)**

At that moment, the door opened, and Drake lifted his head. Seconds later, he saw his sister round the corner. "Megs," he greeted, but instead of saying something in return, she turned and disappeared up the staircase. "Well, I'll just go fuck myself then."

Josh soon followed her inside with Mindy in tow. "Hey, Drake."

"Hey."

"How are you?"

"I'm fine." He really wasn't, but that wasn't what Josh wanted to hear because he didn't want to have to deal with it. "I didn't know you were gonna be home."

"Megan spilled something on her shirt, so we just brought her by to change clothes."

"How is she?" Drake asked. "She won't really talk to me."

"I'm gonna go make sure she remembers her charger, too, this time," Mindy said. "Glad you're okay, Drake." She disappeared upstairs.

"She's doing as fine as she can be for what she's going through. She took it hard." Josh moved over towards the couch that his brother was laying on. "We all did."

"It wasn't supposed to come out like that. It wasn't supposed to come out at all."

"It hurt everyone, but at least it's not something that you have to deal with anymore." He looked uncomfortable, which is exactly why Drake didn't want to come back home in the first place. "Look, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for the way I treated you-"

"Don't."

"I didn't know what you were going through-"

"Stop apologizing. I hurt you. What my dad did to me doesn't make what me and Mindy did okay. And even if nothing had happened between me and her and if you and me were still talking, I still never would've said anything about my dad, so you don't have to feel guilty."

"Why not, though? I mean, I just don't understand." He took a seat on the arm of the couch. "Why did you keep it all a secret."

Drake shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, I was really embarrassed. And I knew it would destroy Mom." He looked away. "I just wish I would stop hurting her. I'm trying to get clean."

"I think that would make her happy."

It was obvious how guilty he felt every time he mentioned his mother. "How is she?" he asked uneasily.

"They're trying everything they can," Josh said, his voice taking on a more somber tone, "but honestly, I don't think she'll get back full mobility in her legs. They're saying it's a fifty-fifty chance, but I think they're just trying to keep us positive and hopeful."

The young man let go of his breath as he looked down at his lap. Josh could see that the news made his eyes water over.

"I wish it was me instead of her," Drake said, trying hard to keep himself from crying. Damn Ricky for hiding his pills. Which of these three family members that were currently here could he make pity him enough to convince them to tear the house apart in search of his meds to let him get high? "You were right - what you said in the back of the ambulance after Meelah died." He would never forget his step-brother's harsh words: _I hope you see now just how much of a cancer you are, and how you ruin the lives of everyone you come into contact with._

"I didn't mean it, Drake. I was just worried about you, and I was angry with you for doing something so dangerous."

"I just keep thinking if Mom would've died...that's three people I've killed.."

"But she didn't die. And Meelah's death wasn't your fault. And your dad - if you wouldn't have done what you did, you wouldn't be here right now, and _that_ would've killed Mom."

Drake felt like it wasn't as simple as Josh was making it. He hadn't been there. Even under the circumstances, it was Drake's father. He loved him. He'd known him all his life. Eighteen years of building a relationship with someone just to have it shot to shit in eighteen seconds.

 ***FLASHBACK***

"Huuuuuhh!" Drake's eyes were wide as he took in a deep breath. He reached up and clutched his neck, which he found was finally free of Martin's hands. He pushed through the pain that he felt everywhere and scooted himself backwards. Maybe while his dad was distracted, he could get help or hide or something. "Ah!" he hissed as he put weight onto his broken collar bone and wrist. He dug his heels into the carpet to help him along, and the pressure against the broken fibula in his leg made a sharp pain shoot up his body. "Aahhh!" When he made it to the door, he reached up, his hand covered in the blood from his stab wound that he'd been clutching, which made it hard for him to grip the lock in between his fingers.

"-FUCKING STABBED ME?! YOU PUNK BITCH!" Martin had been cussing up a storm, which terrified his son more than before if that was even possible. The man screeched as he yanked the knife out of his arm, and this sound made the boy turn his attention towards his father.

"Don't," he begged. "Please." When his dad started crawling his way, he gave up on the door and instead backed away further until he was in the corner of the room, trapped at all angles between two walls, the dresser, and his father. A terrified sob left him as the man came closer with the knife. He fearfully lifted his arms to block his head from any major damage just like he did when he was being punched, but he knew that this wouldn't stop the raging man.

Thoughts of being repeatedly stabbed all over his body clouded his brain, filling him with terror. He multiplied the pain of his current knife wounds by fifteen, but Martin probably wouldn't stop there. How many stabs can one endure before succumbing to the sweet release of death? All he would have to do is count them down, and when he got to the last one, he would be gone. He decided to start at twenty, but he prayed that he wouldn't have to suffer through that many. Just by thinking about it, he could already feel the pain. He could hear his screeches of agony. He could already taste the blood that he was going to choke on.

But none of that was happening. Martin should've made it to him by now. He gathered his courage and peeked around his arms, and that's when he saw the man collapse onto his stomach.

"Dad?"

The man then rolled onto his back, suddenly feeling weak all over. "What the hell?" he breathed.

Drake's eyes moved to his father's arm. Jesus, there was blood everywhere. He'd never seen so much in real life before. His own wounds weren't even spewing that much blood. He pushed himself out of the corner and made his way over to his father, who already was looking more and more pale by the second.

"Oh, no," Drake choked. "Oh, no."

The man tried to sit up, but only his head made it off the ground, then it dropped onto the carpet again. His eyes were wide. "Bastard."

Drake tried to cover the penetration wound in his father's arm to keep him from bleeding out, but blood seeped through his fingers. "No," he sobbed.

Martin managed to lift his other arm and grab a hold of his son's neck, but he'd used all of his strength to raise it up so he couldn't clench down that hard. However, it caught Drake's attention. The boy met his eyes.

"It's okay. It's not that bad," Drake said, but his cheeks were flooded with tears.

"You worthless piece...shit." He could no longer hold his arm up.

"Stay with me, okay?" Drake examined the wound again and was shocked at how much blood there was. "Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. HEEEEELP!" he screamed towards the ceiling with his eyes closed, hoping to God that someone would hear him. "SOMEBODY HEEELP!" He turned to his father for guidance. "What do I do?"

Martin didn't respond.

"Dad?" Drake noticed that his father's stomach was still and his eyes were absently staring off at nothing in particular. His voice cracked. "Dad?"

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Drake remembered vomiting soon after that. He could recall how much he'd struggled to pull and push his father's body away from the door so that he could leave the room and find his phone. It had been exhausting and painful having to drag himself across the floor. He'd found it in the kitchen close to one of his severed fingers, then he'd called the police in a panicking, bawling mess.

"We're ready," Mindy said as she came down the steps.

Josh stood. "You gonna be alright by yourself?"

"Yeah." Drake forced a smile, but he wasn't sure if it was actually convincing or not.

Apparently, it didn't matter if he would be alright or not. Everyone was just ready to be away from him and his pity party and the guilt that he made them feel.

"Call if you need anything."

Drake nodded, then watched as they left, now officially feeling worse than he had before their arrival. He debated whether or not he should give Ricardo a call, but he had practically just left, and he deserved a longer break. It was hard to pay attention to anything on television because his mind kept racing with depressing thoughts, so instead, he started playing music on his phone in hopes that it would make him feel better.

* * *

Drake's eyes shot open when the repeated patting of his cheek woke him. He looked up, his eyebrows furrowed, and saw Kenzly. He noticed that her lips were moving, but he couldn't hear anything over the sound of Tame Impala, which was being blasted into his brain. He pulled out his earbuds, then groaned.

"Mmm, what?"

"I said I didn't mean to scare you. I knocked, like, a hundred times, but then I remembered that you couldn't really get the door."

Drake pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain as he did so. Kenzly took note of this.

"How are you?"

"Not great," he answered honestly.

Kenzly made a pouty face, then held out a small, white object. "Can I offer you a nice egg in this trying time?"

The corners of Drake's lips turned up into a smile. "Fuck off. Did you really bring an egg over just to say that?"

"I was watching that episode when you texted me, and I couldn't resist."

"This is the best thing that's ever happened to my entire life."

Kenzly stood there awkwardly for a moment, then said. "I don't really know what to do with this egg now, so I'm just gonna put it in your fridge."

When she was gone, Drake called to her from the couch. "Hey, bring me a water with a straw?"

She did.

"Thanks."

Kenzly sat down in the recliner and popped open her can of soda. "Gonna be honest. Ninety percent of me expected you to be high on your pain meds by the time I got here."

"I wish. Fucking Ricky hid them upstairs so I can't even fucking go get them."

"So I can just go find them and keep them for myself then," she joked, and then all of a sudden, her tone changed. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Drake furrowed his brow. "No. What the hell are you talking about?"

"I feel like do you wanna address the elephant in the room?"

The young man said nothing to this and looked down at his lap. _Oh._

Since she saw that he didn't want to speak, she did. "Like, I thought we had a great thing going. You're one of my best friends. But we never really got involved in each other's personal lives like that. So I don't know if you were trying to tell me something and I just pushed you away. I don't wanna be the jackass who wasn't there for you."

"You're not. I like our friendship the way it is, and I don't want anything to change," Drake said. "When you came in with your regular chill attitude and your smile and your lame fucking _Sunny_ joke - that was the most normal anyone has acted towards me since everything happened, and I don't want that to change. You're the only one who doesn't look at me with guilt, and it's just nice to have a conversation that doesn't involve my dad or explanations or apologies. I don't want you to feel like you have to start checking in on me now."

And then suddenly, Kenzly was back to her normal self. "Oh, no, I didn't feel like I had to do that. I just felt like _you_ felt like I was supposed to be like that. But as you know, I'm a non-compassionate asshole who ignores all the problems in my life."

"Same." Drake actually felt better now that they'd gotten that conversation out of the way, and he was surprised about how glad he was that they'd had it.. "So what's this surprise movie you've brought for me?"

Kenzly's eyes lit up. "Oh my God!" She grabbed her hippie purse off of the coffee table. "Close your eyes."

"Really? We're doing this?"

"Fucking close your eyes," she demanded with a mock angry face.

"Jesus. Fine." Drake did, and moments later, he felt a plastic DVD case brushing against his fingers. He clutched it.

"Okay. Open them."

"Holy shit! No way! They made a sequel!"

"Yes!"

Drake looked at the title, which read _T2: Trainspotting_. "Fuck me. I'm so excited. What's it been? Like, twenty years?"

"Yeah, and they got the original cast back, and Renton is hot as shit now," she said. "Your favorite was always Sick Boy, though, wasn't it?"

"Yes, he had the best lines. And he's not even Scottish." Drake flipped it over and read the back of the case. "This is the best day of my life. You've already watched it?"

"Twice. But I could watch this movie thousands of times."

"Is it as good as the first one?"

"I mean, I loved it. _Trainspotting_ didn't really need a sequel, but I still like to see the characters come back to life again." She got up and grabbed the case from him when he held it out, then she pulled out the disc. "And they have another _'Choose Life'_ monologue, which is amazing. Oh, I forgot the popcorn." She picked up her purse again and grabbed the package. "I'll go heat it really quick."

"I can't really eat popcorn." Drake pointed to the wires in his mouth.

"Well, I'll get you another water then." She said it in a jokingly bitter manner as if she was mad at him for bringing her down.

* * *

"Walter's gonna be pissed," Kenzly said as she helped Drake up the last step. She was out of breath.

"I know, but I hate being in the living room. It's so out in the open. Ah!"

"I can't believe you don't have a wheelchair."

"What's the fucking point? I couldn't even roll myself anywhere if I did." He slightly lifted the arm that was in the sling to further explain his point.

"How are you gonna get up the ladder?"

"I'll just sleep in Josh's bed. They're gonna stay with Mom tonight."

Kenzly opened the door to Drake's old bedroom. She supported a lot of the boy's weight as she guided him over to the bed. He turned and carefully sat down onto the mattress. He, too, was panting for breath.

"Thanks," he said in a raspy voice. He lifted the corner of his shirt to make sure none of his stitches had popped, then he hid the knife wound again.

"Do you want me to turn on the tv? Just laying here sounds kinda boring. You can watch some of your movies."

"They were all at my dad's, and he trashed them a long time ago."

"Well, shit. You could flip through the channels and find a show," she offered.

"Nah, I have a headache. I'm just gonna lay here and probably sleep it off."

"Okay. Your step-dad's probably gonna be here any minute, so I'm gonna go ahead and see myself out so I miss all the yelling when he finds out that you've moved upstairs."

Drake groaned. "Maybe I'll be asleep by then."

"Doubt it. I think I just heard a car door slam. I'm out." Kenzly gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then she bolted. When she got downstairs, she opened the front door and came face-to-face with Walter. She gave him a smile. "See ya, Mr. Nichols."

He turned as she scooted past in a hurry, his face filled with surprise and confusion, but he shrugged it off and went inside.

Moments later, Drake heard his name being called. "I'm upstairs!" he yelled back. His head pounded with each one of Walter's rapid stomps as he ascended the steps.

He spoke from down the hallway. "What are you doing?! You know you shouldn't be climbing stairs!"

He tried the pity approach because he figured that would quieten the man the fastest. "The couch was really uncomfortable and my leg-"

"You could've waited for me! Or called! What if you would've fallen?!"

"It's okay. Kenzly was here."

"When I see that girl again..."

Drake and Kenzly had known each other practically forever. They'd met in kindergarten, but they weren't really friends until middle school. Back before Charlie and Meelah were a thing, Kenzly practically lived here. She was family, so Walter treated her like his own and had no problem getting onto her like he would his own kids.

"That's why she left in such a hurry, huh?" Walter said.

Drake squeezed his eyes closed and clutched his temple. His headache was getting worse and worse by the second. His display of pain worried Walter.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's nothing," he said.

"Have you taken any of your meds?"

"No, Ricky hid them and said he'd text you when you got home to tell you where they are."

Walter nodded with approval. "Hmm. I knew I liked him. Text him and let him know I'm here."

Drake grabbed his phone and did as he was told. Now that he'd had time to rest, he felt achy all over after all of the moving he had done, and pains shot through his body every few seconds.

"Oh, he just texted me." Walter looked down at his phone, then grinned.

"What?"

The man reached around his step-son and grabbed the pill bottle that was hanging out of his back pocket. "This guy has a sense of humor."

Drake couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed it before. He'd never given Ricky his pills. Why would he? A drug addict always clutches tightly to his most precious possessions. Drake could even remember feeling like he'd been sitting on something on the couch. _How on earth_ was he _this_ stupid?!

"Jesus," the boy whispered. "What a dick." He reached for them, but Walter pulled them back.

"You can have _one_." He popped open the childproof lid. "I'll keep the rest safe."

Drake rolled his eyes, but he took the one that was offered to him.

"I'll grab you some water."

After Walter disappeared, the young man pulled out his phone again.

 **Drake: i hate u**

 **Ricardo: ha :P**

 **Ricardo: honestly cant believe you fell for it**

 **Drake: fuck off w ur emojis**

 **Ricardo: :P :P :P :P :P :P :P :P :P :P**

 **Ricardo: :P**

 **Ricardo: :P**

 **Ricardo: :P**

 **Ricardo: :P**

 **Drake: jesus**

 **Ricardo: :P**

"Here." Walter said, hearing a ding come from Drake's phone.

The boy ignored it, then looked at Josh's nightstand. He found a transparent blue rock that Josh had bought several years ago on one of the family's annual summer vacations. He set the pill down on the flat surface, then picked up the rock.

 _Ding!_

With his broken wrist, Drake was clearly struggling, so Walter took it from him and crushed up the pill for him. It would be much easier for the young man to snort it, but he wasn't sure how his step-father would react to that, so he scooped the powder into the water that Walter held for him.

 _Ding!_

After stirring it until the powder dissolved, Drake put the straw between his lips and sucked the liquid through his teeth, then swallowed it down.

 _Ding! Ding! Ding!_

"Who's that?" Walter asked with curiosity.

"Fucking Ricky's being a prick."

"Didn't we talk about the language?"

"Sorry."

He didn't like cussing in front of his mom or Walter, but the words would just slip out a lot. He wasn't used to having to filter himself. He'd practically cussed in between every word when he'd stayed with his father. That's what he'd lived around and that's the language that he was used to having directed towards himself. Instead of _good morning_ s, he was woken with a punch and called a _fucking piece of shit_. Instead of being congratulated for an achievement or good behavior, he was forced to dodge some sort of object being hurled at him while being called a _dumbass bitch_. He'd had to adapt to his environment since he was thirteen and staying with Martin on the weekends, and it hadn't taken long at all for it to finally click. _"No matter what, you'll be on his bad side. This is how you avoid a beating. Do this and you won't get yelled at."_ That's the way Drake had learned to think, whether it worked or not.

"Mindy, Josh, and I have a rotation. Tomorrow night, I'm gonna stay with your mom and they'll be here. I don't want you attempting to climb up the ladder to your loft, so are you gonna see if Josh will let you bunk with him or sleep in my bed?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll stay in your room if that's okay." After that was cleared up, Drake thought that the man would give him some space, but instead, Walter took a seat next to him.

"So Drake..."

 _Oh, no. This can't be good._

"We haven't really talked much since I didn't visit you in the hospital, but I want you to know that I _do_ love you and I _do_ care," he said. "But I don't understand. What exactly happened over there? At your father's house, I mean."

Drake didn't understand what he was digging for and it made him angry that he would even ask. Everyone knew what had happened. It's not like hearing it again would all of a sudden clear things up. Drake knew that they were all confused. He got that. He'd done a damn good job at keeping it a secret. He'd lied to them for years about what was happening to him every time he stepped through that door. Even if he explained all the perverse and vicious details, however, they still wouldn't understand. They had a completely different idea in their minds of who Drake was as a person and who Martin was as a person, so to receive all this news so suddenly - their brains just couldn't handle it.

"You know what happened," Drake said with a hard voice, his jaw taut. "Will hearing it once more really make you believe it?"

"I do believe it. It's just hard...to picture-"

"Then don't," the boy snapped.

He felt as though Walter was undressing him in his mind. He knew that he wasn't, but that was the best way to describe it. He felt exposed. At some point, each person in his life had tried to envision what the rapes had been like, so Drake couldn't shake the feeling that that's the image they saw when they looked at him.

"That's not what I meant. It's just - you went over there every weekend and came back with a smile on your face and stories of all these fun things you and Megan and your dad had done. And this summer - I mean, you said you guys went to the beach and went fishing and that he took you to all of these amazing places."

"I had to make it believable."

"Why, though? Why didn't you say anything? You know we would've supported you had we have known about..."

"I always told you guys that I didn't wanna go."

"But you didn't say why. How could we have known if you didn't tell us?"

Drake could hear the guilt coming out of the man's voice. "He said things to me when I was little that scared me into keeping my mouth shut. He said he'd kill Mom and make me watch. At the time, I believed him. But as I got older, it just became about him being my father and us sticking together because we're family. We're a fucked up family. I mean, screwed up," he said to correct his curse. "But we were still family, and I loved him."

Honestly, even after laying in a hospital and staring at the ceiling for hours on end, Drake felt like he hadn't had enough time to process what had happened, yet he was constantly having to explain it to others.

"I just can't even begin to imagine what you've had to go through, and I know I didn't help to make things better. I never wanted you to feel so alone and like you couldn't come to me."

"It's over now," Drake said, "and that's all that matters." He was honestly tired of trying to help people stop feeling so guilty about something that they actually did contribute to. He didn't blame Walter directly, and maybe he was just bitter and angry about the things Martin had done to him, but Walter _had_ kicked him out and _was_ the reason he had moved in with his biological father.

"I just want you to be able to come to me to talk."

"Of course." He felt like he was coddling his step-dad and carrying him through this conversation. He just wanted it to be over. God, this was humiliating.

Walter patted his knee and offered a smile as he stood, pushing down on the boy's good leg to help himself get onto his feet better. His back was stiff from sitting in the hospital recliner all day. Drake forced a smile in return.

* * *

Drake's eyes shot open and he took in a deep breath of air. Afterwards, he gulped, then his breathing became rapid.

"It was just a nightmare," Walter said quietly, and it just now occurred to the boy that he had been speaking the entire time. "It's not real. It was just a bad dream."

Had he been yelling in his slumber? Or had his step-dad been watching him sleep.

Drake calmed himself and steadied his breathing.

"You alright?"

He nodded his head. "Yeah."

"What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember," he said. On the contrary, he couldn't get the images out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was blood.

Walter wiped Drake's sweat-soaked bangs out of his eyes. He had a good hunch as to what his step-son's nightmare had been about, or, more correctly, _who_ it had been about. "You want me to stay until you fall asleep again?"

He felt like he was too old for that although maybe it would help. "No, I'm fine."

Walter nodded, then stood. "Do you want the tv on so you can have a little background noise and light?"

The young man accepted this offer. After his step-father flipped on the television, they both said their goodnights and the man left the room, leaving Drake alone.

* * *

 **Ricardo: first night go okay?**

 **Drake: yea**

 **Ricardo: did your stepdad try to ask you about things**

 **Drake: of cors**

 **Ricardo: he just cares**

"Here you go." Josh pushed the door open further and went over to his bed. He passed the boy a slightly cloudy glass of water, which had his pain medicine mixed in.

"Thanks." Maybe now he could actually get some much-needed sleep. He hadn't slept since he'd woken from the nightmare. He swallowed down the water, cringing at the awful taste. He wished their was a better way. There had to be a better way. His grip was still pretty weak due to his broken wrist, so just as he was finishing up, he dropped it. "Shit," he said as the cold water soaked through his shirt and pajama pants.

"Sorry." Josh grabbed the glass so that it wouldn't all spill out, but it was too late. "Maybe I should've helped. I'll go grab a towel."

When Josh disappeared, Drake was stuck sitting in the water. His dad was gone, yet he still felt helpless. He couldn't even hold a fucking cup, and his clothes were all the way across the room. He refused to just sit there and allow his brother to clean him up. He wasn't some senior who needed to be spoon-fed and bathed with a sponge. He was fully capable of taking care of himself. Drake turned slightly, then he carefully started to lift his broken leg. He used his right hand, then attempted to slowly lower it onto the floor. His face contorted and his eyes watered over, but he wouldn't cry. The young man leaned forwards and used the hand belonging to the arm with the broken collar bone as much as he could in his effort to get his feet onto the floor.

"Fuck." His voice cracked, but still, his tears didn't fall. Finally, he let go of his leg as his heel brushed against the hardwood floor. "Gah!"

"Drake, what are you doing?!" Josh called from down the hall, for he'd had to go to the laundry room to find a clean towel. He'd grabbed his girlfriend along the way.

Even though he tried to play it off like he was okay, Drake's face was still contorted with pain and his teeth were clenched.

"Mindy, can you grab him some new clothes?"

The girl moved over to Drake's dresser while Josh wrapped his arm under his brother's pits and lifted him to his feet. The injured young man hopped once to balance himself.

"I was coming right back," Josh said. "You should've waited for me." He propped the boy up against the wall, then turned back to his bed and peeled off his comforter and sheets. He laid the towel down to cover the wet spot.

"Here's some pj's." Mindy brought them over, then passed them to her boyfriend while Drake removed his sling. She picked up the remote and turned her head towards the television to find something for Drake to watch.

"Let's get your shirt off."

Josh reached for it, but Drake smacked his hand away unintentionally hard, surprising his brother.

"I can get it myself. Just go."

"I know you can get it yourself. I just wanna help." Again, he tried, but his brother refused him.

"Just leave," Drake tried more desperately this time.

"Look, you have nothing to be ashamed of. So what if you have a few bruises?"

Once again, he reached for the boy's shirt, and once again, Drake denied him access. However, Josh was much stronger at the moment, especially since his step-brother could only fight back with one hand, and that one was connected to a broken wrist.

"Stop. Stop!" Drake protested as he attempted to yank his shirt back down to cover his torso.

"Just let me help," Josh argued, and finally, he got the shirt off. "Jesus..."

There were several bruises. That, he'd expected. However, the severity of them - how gigantic and dark they were - it was sickening. The stab wound was a painful reminder of how real all of this was. In an alternate universe somewhere, a different, weaker Drake was dead right now, and a different, guiltier Josh was without a brother. Josh had seen this wound before, yet it still came as a surprise to him as if he hadn't expected it to be there. However, what made his heart sink into his gut were the words that had been branded into his step-brother's skin: _WORTHLESS COCK-SUCKING SLUT_. When Josh saw it, it was such a shock that he lost his breath.

"Fucking hell," Mindy whispered. After Josh's sudden silence, she'd curiously made her way over to the two since the young man wasn't yet fully naked.

Drake snatched his balled-up, wet shirt back from his brother and held it up to his chest to cover himself as best as he could. His face was red with humiliation.

Josh finally spoke up, his voice filled with melancholy. "You never told us about-"

"Just go," he said, praying for isolation. "And don't tell anyone," he pleaded.

It suddenly occurred to Josh that Drake had suffered through more than physical and sexual abuse. This was pure mental torture. Martin had made the boy feel like the scum of the earth. He'd made him feel like a complete waste of breath. The fact that his brother had been forced to endure constant violent beatings and frequent vicious rapes while Josh had hated him had made the boy feel an extreme amount of guilt, but now that brain-washing was being added on to the list... No wonder he was a drug addict! How could anyone expect him not to be after the terrible things that had been said and done to him. And that wasn't even the worst part. The cherry on top was that his own family had turned their backs on him. They'd kicked him out, forcing him to take shelter with his abuser. Every night when his father left his bed after committing disgusting, unspeakable acts towards him, Drake was alone and had no one in the world to turn to. No one except his drugs.

"Please, go," Drake begged, and Josh noticed that he was weeping now. Drake hadn't wanted to cry - not in front of his brother and definitely not in front of Mindy.

As he considered leaving the room like he was asked to, Josh turned his head towards the door, and for the first time, he noticed that his step-sister had been standing there the entire time. Drake followed his eyes, and when he saw her, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, upset with how this situation was going.

Thankfully, Mindy walked over to her, then placed her hand on the young girl's shoulder so that she would turn around. Mindy guided her down the hallway and back to her own bedroom. Josh took this time to grab Drake's dry shirt and help him into it. The young man was so ashamed about what had just happened that he allowed his brother to dress him in his boxers and pajama pants as well. He just wanted to cover up all of his shame as quickly as possible.

* * *

Drake sniffled when he heard footsteps ascending the stairs. He wiped his eyes, then awaited the inevitable company.

"I brought you some lunch." It was Mindy.

"I'm not hungry." Drake kept his back to her, and he hoped that she couldn't tell that he'd been crying. He thought he spoke fine enough. It was just the letter ' _n_ ' that could potentially give him away. That letter was so hard to say when your nose was filled with snot.

"I'll just leave it here in case you change your mind." Mindy set the tray down on top of the nightstand anyway. She started to leave, to Drake's relief, but changed her mind. "Can I ask you a question?"

The boy said nothing, but she knew that he was listening.

"When you would disappear on me - like the time you were gone for two weeks - was that because of your dad?"

He stayed silent.

"I heard that he locked you in the basement sometimes, so I was just wondering if..."

Still nothing.

"...if during that time, the reason you didn't come see me was because you couldn't."

Drake finally spoke up. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Actually, it does matter," she said. "I think I deserve an answer. You owe it to me."

He knew that she was right, so he gave her one. "My disappearance had nothing to do with my dad. I wasn't in the basement."

Mindy listened to his words. He spoke similar to if it was the morning after Triple C's. His voice was dead and monotonous. Although he gave no verbal clues to say that he wasn't telling the truth, she didn't believe him.

"I think you're lying," she said, calling his bluff. "You can tell me the truth, Drake. I'm over you. I'm not gonna try to convince you that we should be together anymore. And I'm actually really happy to be clean and with Josh. I love him. So you don't have to worry about me wanting you back just because the reason we started becoming so distant in the first place was your dad's fault."

Drake believed her, but he had to be sure that he didn't betray his brother ever again by stealing her heart away from him. "I just wanted to fuck you. Like I said, it was a mistake. Believe it or not, I actually am that much of an asshole."

"So the entire summer-" It was obvious that she was hurt. "-it all meant nothing to you?"

He felt horrible that he was purposely making her feel this way. He hated himself for burning whatever bridge he had built with her. He loved her so much. However, he couldn't do this to Josh again, and everyone he loved dies or comes close to it anyway, so he was better off alone.

"Can you bring me my pills?" he asked, blowing off her question. He desperately needed to cloud up his mind and get high right now.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said.

"You're gonna be a bitch to me because of how I treated you six months ago?"

"I'm not keeping your medicine from you to be a bitch," she said, surprised by how rude he was. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to take them all and not have any when you start hurting tomorrow."

Suddenly, he got much louder and angrier. "Can you bring me my goddamn pills, please?!"

"Whoa, what is going on here?" Josh said as he entered the room.

Neither had heard him approach.

"I want my pills," Drake said.

"Yeah, and you'll get them," said Josh. "Tomorrow, when it's time for them."

"Fuck this." The young man pushed himself into a sitting position, and in moments, he had his feet on the floor.

"Hey, no, what are you doing?" Josh went over to him, but his step-brother pushed him away.

"They're _my_ fucking pills! I'm in fucking pain!"

"Drake, calm down," Josh tried.

The young man slowly hobbled his way out the door. "Where are they?"

"Please, just calm down so we can talk about this." Josh was right behind him. "Mindy, call my dad." He grabbed his brother by wrapping his arms around his torso.

"Ow! You're hurting me!"

Josh was quick to let go, and once he did, he realized that the boy had lied about the pain. However, Drake did have a plethora of bruises and broken bones, and so he feared attempting to grab him again.

"Are they downstairs?"

"Drake, don't. You could fall."

"Maybe then I'll be in enough pain for you to give me my shit back."

And just as Josh predicted, Drake's leg gave out and he fell forwards. He tried to catch himself with his hands, which put a lot of weight on his broken wrist and collar bone as he collided with the floor. He screamed.

"Drake!" Josh kneeled down next to him. "Oh my God, are you okay?!" Since the boy was face-down against the hardwood, Josh had to help him up and into a sitting position. When he saw his face, he found that his brother was crying.

"I just wanna get high," Drake said through his tears. "Please. I'm begging you. I can't fucking do this sober. You don't understand." He dropped his head as his back jerked with his sobs. "You don't understand. It hurts!" He tugged at his hair. Maybe if he ripped it out, he could focus more on the physical pain than on the torturous thoughts that wouldn't stop racing through his brain. "Oh, God, it hurts, Josh," he whined, then he struggled to take in a deep breath before he started bawling some more. "Please, just give me my fucking pills! I'm in _fucking_ pain!"

Josh looked over at Mindy, who held out the phone for him. She'd never left her boyfriend's bedroom because Drake was honestly scaring her. The young man stood, went to her, then grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

"What the hell is going on there?" Walter could hear Drake yelling in the background.

"Drake's freaking out. He fell-"

"Fell?! You let him get up?!"

"No, he just wouldn't listen to me," Josh said. He could hear his step-mother's voice faintly.

"Fell? Who fell? Was it Drake? Is he okay?"

"Everyone's fine," Walter assured, then he spoke into the phone again. "Just give him another pill. It'll be alright. Do you think you'll be able to get him back into bed?"

"Yeah, after he calms down."

"Do you need me to come home?"

"No, I think we'll manage. I just panicked, I guess."

"You have everything under control now?"

"Yeah."

"Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything," Walter said. "I can be there in thirty minutes."

"I won't."

They both said their goodbyes, and once Josh hung up the phone, he turned and looked at his brother again, and he found that Drake was quickly chugging down a glass of water mixed with an unknown amount of pills.

"Megan!" Josh scolded, bolting down the hallway. "What are you doing?!"

"He said he was in pain," she defended. "How could you let him lay there and suffer?"

"How many did you give him?"

"I don't know. He got them out."

Josh looked down and saw the open bottle on the floor. He grabbed it and looked inside. "Jesus, half of them are missing. You took HALF THE BOTTLE?!"

Drake had a look of satisfaction on his face when his brother snatched the almost empty glass away from him.

"Call an ambulance!" Josh yelled over his shoulder.

"I don't think we should," Mindy disagreed.

"What?! He's gonna die!"

"Drake, did you take enough to kill yourself, or just get high?"

"I just wanna get high. I just took four. I swear. The bottle wasn't all the way full when I got it. You can count the pills. There were only twenty when he wrote me the prescription."

Josh was angry that the two girls were on Drake's side. "So you both think we should just let him get high off of his medication whenever he pleases?"

"I didn't know he'd take that many," Megan said.

"It's over," Mindy said. "We'll just keep the pills away from her and Drake from now on. I think taking him to the hospital again would only worry your parents more. We could just keep an eye on him and see how he does, and if something goes wrong, then we can call an ambulance."

"You guys are insane." Josh said. He then huffed downstairs to get some space.

* * *

Mindy carefully helped Drake sit down on the bed. "I'm gonna go talk to Josh. I think you should apologize. He's grown up learning at home and at school that drugs kill, so when you do things like that, especially in front of him, it freaks him out. That was a really shitty thing to do. He just worries about you."

"I'll be fine."

"It's not just Josh. It's your whole family. They live their lives thinking that at any moment, you could die."

"You're overreacting."

"I'm not," Mindy said. "Did you know that we have to text your mom before we call and we have to tell her that we're about to call and that everything is okay and it's not any bad news about you? She was the one who answered the phone when your dad called to say he'd found you OD'ing on the side of the road. The simple sound of a phone ringing when she doesn't know why beforehand will send her into a panic attack. She always thinks we're calling to tell her that you've finally overdosed and died. She literally - I'm not even exaggerating - went around the house and _cut_ every single phone wire so that she doesn't have to hear the house phone ring because a house phone can't give her information about what kind of conversation she's about to have. Are you wrapping your head around this? Because of you, your mom is terrified of the phone ringing."

Drake hadn't known this, and it did break his heart. Audrey had seemed just fine during the holidays.

"I know you know you hurt people, but you don't understand how much. You haven't lived with them to see how your addiction has affected them. Like, your mom's all of a sudden into church now, and she drags everyone along every Sunday. And Josh has to go to a counselor twice a week because he was the one who found you on your deathbed when you tried to kill yourself. He has nightmares every night and he talks about you all day long. He can't even sleep without medicine. Megan's the opposite. She hasn't said a word about you and no one knows how she's coping. She refuses to talk to her counselor. She either locks herself in her room or she disappears for hours without telling anyone. No one has a goddamn idea where she is half the time or what she's doing or who she's hanging out with. She's twelve years old and she's already growing up to be just like you. And I catch Walter crying over you at least once a week. You may not think he cares, but he's trying harder than anyone to hold this family together, and since he's the 'man of the house' - he's the decision-maker - he thinks that it's all his fault. He believes he's failed his wife. He believes he's failed his family. He believes he's failed you. And I know all this because I've overheard him talking to his mother on the phone because he feels like he can't talk about it with anyone else because he has to be the strong one. And-"

"Jesus, okay, I get it. I'm a shitty person." Drake no longer had that satisfied feeling he'd had after swallowing his pain pills.

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad. You're just so selfish sometimes, and you need to know that addiction is a family disease."

"Alright," Drake said guiltily. "I'll try to be less shitty next time."

"That's all I ask," the young woman said.

"You can tell Josh I said I'm sorry. I didn't know it affected him so much."

Mindy gave him a nod.

"And I apologize if I hurt you. I don't mean to be a dick. It's just...I don't know..." He didn't want to say it, but he owed her. "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Apology accepted."

"And to answer your question, he did lock me in the basement those twelve days."

"Jesus, I'm sor-"

"Don't," Drake said. He didn't want to be pitied. "It's so embarrassing to admit the things he's done out loud." He hung his head so that he wouldn't have to look at her. "I heard him banging on my door that night. That's why I kicked you out so fast. That's why I said it was a mistake. I just meant staying at my house was a mistake and we probably should've gone to your place instead. I feel awful when I think about how much I hurt Josh, but...I don't really regret the time we spent together. I do have feelings for you, but I'm not willing to give up Charlie, and I don't want to hurt Josh again, and that's why I act like such a prick. Maybe if we would've gotten to know each other earlier. Maybe if I would've failed a grade sooner."

"You met me at a very strange time in my life," Mindy said, quoting the ending scene in Fight Club, which they'd never watched together, but had had many conversations about since they'd both seen it and it was a movie that Drake put under the category of 'Charlie movie.' "I'm gonna go check on Josh." Without saying anything else, she left the room, feeling much better now that she had answers to her questions.

Drake turned and carefully started lifting his leg up onto the mattress, but he was struggling to do so with his injuries. "Ah!" he hissed as a pain shot through his shoulder. "Shit!" At that moment, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked over and saw his younger sister leaving her room. "Megs?" he called, gaining her attention. "Help me out?"

Hesitantly, she made her way over to her brothers' room. Josh had really freaked her out saying those things to her. He'd seemed really angry, and now she was scared and confused.

"Are you gonna die?" she asked.

"What? No. Of course not."

"But Josh said-"

"He was just mad at me for getting you to get my medicine. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you like that. He's not mad at you. And I'm not gonna die."

She seemed to trust him even though he'd never given her a reason to.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," Drake said. "Can you help me elevate my leg?"

The girl nodded. Drake bit his lip to keep from crying out at the pain. He couldn't wait until his pain meds kicked in. After getting his leg up and onto the three pillows, Megan adjusted the pillows. Drake watched her, truly feeling guilty for using her to get high.

"Thanks," he said, and to his surprise, she sat down next to him. He'd tried to have a conversation with her a couple times since he'd come home, but usually she would flee the room. "I know you're angry with me for what I did," he said, referring to killing Martin. "I feel horrible. If I could go back, I never would've picked up that knife. It was just an in-the-moment decision, and I've regretted it every single second since it happened."

"Why?"

"Because..." He trailed off when he suddenly felt a lump in his throat. His face contorted as his eyes watered over. His voice cracked. "Because now you don't have a dad."

"I _am_ pissed," Megan said.

For a moment, Drake was surprised by her language, but she was his sister and Martin's daughter after all.

"But not because you killed him. You did what you had to do to get back home to your family - the one that loves you. I'm angry because you told me he wasn't hurting you anymore. You let me go on loving a man who did those terrible things to you. So now I hate myself for being a fool."

"You're not a fool. I didn't mean to make you feel that way by not telling you."

"Dad raped you in my bed and then took me to Six Flags the next day while you hid in the basement with no food or water, and when we got home, I slept in that bed. Or I'm sure something similar to that happened." She was being a lot more straightforward than Drake had expected her to be - maybe more than he was comfortable with. "I am so disgusted that I ever felt happy when I was with him. I'm angry that he ever made me smile. And I'm furious that you let me."

"He loved you, though." His voice cracked again. "You don't understand how much he loved you. He always talked about how great you were-"

"While punching you in the face and wishing you were more like me? Is that it?"

"It wasn't like that."

"I just can't believe you let me be the clueless daughter who supported him and loved him blindly. And now Mom and Walter are angry with me because I knew he hit you and never said anything, but I didn't know he was still doing it, yet that still doesn't sound any better because I did, at one point in my life, know about it and I never said anything."

"I..." Drake lifted his head with surprise when she started to get up. "I'm sorry," he called after her as she left the room.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. That conversation hadn't gone so well. At least now he knew why she had been avoiding him. He'd thought it was because he'd murdered her father, so this news had come out of left field.

Just then, Mindy came in carrying a garbage can. She noticed that he was crying again. "You alright?"

The young man sniffled, then wiped his nose. "Yeah. What's that for?"

"Josh is still pretty pissed, but he wants someone to keep an eye on you, so I'm just gonna sit here and stare at you for the next several hours. This is for you to vomit in if you have to throw up." She set it next to his bed. "For real, though, what's wrong? Did I make you upset?"

"No," Drake said. He hung his head to hide his watery eyes. "I was talking to Megan. She hates me. Josh hates me. Walter hates me."

"' _Hate'_ is the wrong word. Let's change it to ' _is pissed at_ ,' and you can go ahead and add myself to the list if you want." She was trying to lighten the mood although what she said was the truth.

Drake was too stressed to find her dark humor comical. "I should just fucking leave and stay gone for good. I don't know why I always end up back here. It always ends badly for everyone." He wiped his eyes as fresh tears fell. "I couldn't tell anyone. I was ashamed. I was scared. He was my dad. It would've been different if it had been some stranger, but I've known and trusted this guy my entire life. I couldn't turn my back on him. He'd already lost everything because of me. I owed him this one thing."

Mindy took a seat next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder for support.

"Ricky's gonna be pissed at me, too, when he finds out that I got high on my pain meds. I'm just a fuck-up. My dad was right. All I do is hurt everyone I care about and I'm so fucking sick of it. My life is so pointless. I'm a worthless waste of space. I wish it would've been me instead of him."

Mindy decided to speak as Drake wept. "You remember that time I came over to your dad's house for the first time? We got into this huge argument, you called me a bitch, and I got in my car to leave. But then you chased me outside, you apologized - a very pathetic attempt, I must say - and you begged me to come back inside to finish tutoring you."

Drake remembered, but he didn't know why she was bringing it up.

"When we were finished doing your math lesson, you looked at me, and you could tell that I wasn't okay, so to be nice, you invited me to a party. Do you know where I'd be had you not have done that?"

"At your dad's with no trace of drugs in your system, no criminal record, and not pregnant."

"Actually, there was so much stress going on at home and just in my life in general that I had planned on killing myself. I was going to go home, get in the tub, and cut my wrists. I was so angry with my parents at the time that I was gonna do it in the most dramatic way possible. I was gonna go out in a pool of my own blood. And they were gonna walk in and feel so sorry."

"Jesus."

"Until that night, I had felt so alone. At the time, I couldn't even talk to Josh about anything because we never spoke that deeply. And then we got high together, and it felt as if I had known you my entire life. And you know why? It's because we were the same. We were both broken people. I was gonna kill myself, but _you_ saved my life. _You_ are the reason I'm still here."

* * *

Drake let go of a moan just as the door opened and his brother entered the room.

"How's he doing?" Josh had been bringing up some water and a snack for himself and Mindy to share, but when he'd heard coughing and panting for breath, he'd rushed through the door with concern.

"He's fine," Mindy said. "Just swallowed some water the wrong way."

Drake wiped off his lips, then laid back down, too high and sleepy to care about anything at the moment.

"How did you know he would be okay?" Josh asked, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. He set the pack of Chips Ahoy! cookies in between them. "Not just now, but when he'd first taken them. How did you know he wouldn't die?"

"I didn't. I just didn't think we should put him in a hospital right away."

"At least one of us knows how to stay calm."

"I've been through something like this before," she said. "A few times, actually."

"Really?"

"And I was not the calm one the first two times."

"What happened?" Josh asked, taking a bite of his cookie.

"The first time was Rhinestone. Drake and I were there. I panicked and went outside. I was gonna leave, but I guess the guilt got to me because, even though Drake was trying to act calm, I could see how scared he was. By the time I went back inside, Drake had stuck his finger down his throat and made him to throw up."

"Jesus." Josh was stunned that this experience hadn't turned them off of drugs forever. It sounded terrifying.

"And the second time was Drake. He was supposed to meet me, and when he didn't, I got worried. Rhinestone and I found him at his dad's. He'd taken way too much of his cough medicine. He had terrible stomach pains and threw up everywhere. Then it happened again later on when it was just me and him, but I guess I just knew what to do at that point. I don't know if he was technically overdosing, but I was freaked out by whatever it was."

"I don't know why Drake would choose that lifestyle knowing that he could die at any moment. Or anything could happen really. Maybe the drugs paralyze him or mess with his brain and he becomes mentally handicapped. I knew someone like that when I was really little: my godmother's niece."

"It's an addiction," Mindy said. "It's more mental than physical with his drug of choice - there's not really any withdrawal symptoms besides fatigue - but it's different because he wasn't using for fun; he was using to cope."

"Do you ever miss it?" Josh asked.

"Everyday," she said.

* * *

Drake's eyes shot open after yet another nightmare. He looked around and saw light shining through the windows. He turned his head towards the door, and sitting in a chair nearby was Ricardo.

"Somebody had a good night's sleep," the man said with a knowing attitude.

Drake sighed. "Please, don't yell at me. I know I fucked up, okay? Yesterday was just a bad day for me."

"You were supposed to call then."

He pushed himself into a sitting position. "If I called every time I wanted to get high, your phone bill would be insane."

"I've got unlimited," Ricardo said. "I told you to call me. I don't give a goddamn if it's three in the morning and you dropped your phone in the toilet. I expect you to find a way to get in touch with me."

"I'm sorry. I will next time."

"Talk to me about yesterday."

Drake shrugged. "Everyone keeps asking questions. I just hate talking about things. And they found out about my dad branding me. They all saw. Even Megan. I'm just so ashamed."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "That sucks. I know you wanted to keep it a secret. But look on the bright side. Five years from now if Josh were to walk in on you getting into the shower or something, you wouldn't have any explaining to do. I mean, honestly, you were only gonna be able to hide it for so long."

"I guess you're right, but it doesn't make me feel better. I mean, how am I supposed to have sex?"

"I didn't know you needed pointers," Ricardo joked.

"Or go swimming at the beach?"

"If whenever those times come and you still look back on your experiences with shame rather than pride that you survived and overcame the assault, then maybe you could cover it with a Band-Aid."

"Jesus, do you know how much I would spend on Band-Aids for the rest of my life?"

"Expecting to get laid that often?"

"Ricky, you're a prick sometimes."

"It's Ricardo," the man corrected before chuckling, but then he got more serious so that Drake would know that he _was_ listening and that he _did_ care. "Look, if you ever need Band-Aid money in your future, you know I've got you." Well, a little serious anyway.

"Dinner's ready," Walter said after pushing open the bedroom door. "Ricardo, would you like to join us?"

"I should get going. I-" His eyes moved to Drake.

"Stay," the boy said.

"Okay, fine. If you don't mind having me."

"Drake, let me help you downstairs."

"I'll help him," Ricardo offered.

When the two made it downstairs, they saw Walter bring a bowl from the kitchen and set it onto the dining room table. There were two dishes set out in front of two chairs, and one chair only had a glass. This was Drake's glass. Inside was a smoothie version that contained whatever Walter had made for dinner. The texture was always awful, but the boy missed actual food, and he was very limited because of his jaw being wired shut. As the two young men approached, Walter pulled out a chair so that they could get Drake seated easier.

"Thanks."

The other two took their seats and the food was passed around. Drake was very appreciative that Ricardo had stayed. Without him, Walter would probably want more father/son time, and he'd bombard Drake with loads of personal questions that didn't belong at the dinner table. Honestly, Drake had still expected it to a lighter degree, but Walter refrained from any sort of interrogation, and the conversations between the three were actually...nice. That's the best word Drake could think of to describe them. Ricardo kept the two laughing - maybe a little too much at Drake's expense - but it felt incredibly normal, and that's something that the young man hadn't felt since he was thirteen.

* * *

 _(4 days later)_

"Please," Drake tried. "I've been staring at the same ceiling for almost a week now. I'd much rather switch it up and stare at the ceiling in the living room."

"I just don't think it's a good idea to go down the steps," Josh said.

"See, I told you," said Mindy, who had gotten her boyfriend after Drake had tried to convince her to help him downstairs. "If you're bored, Josh and I will hang out up here with you and play a board game or something."

Drake groaned. "Ugh, I just wanna move around. I'm so tired of laying here all day and night."

Josh sighed, for he felt bad for his brother. "Alright, fine. But if Dad gets mad, you better tell him that we tried to stop you."

Drake promised that he would. Josh wrapped the boy's good arm across his shoulders, then lifted him to his feet.

"Mm..."

"You alright?" Josh asked.

Drake's voice was strained. "Yeah."

They made their way down the hall, then started on the first step. Mindy walked backwards carefully in front of them to catch Drake if he started to fall. It was much easier for the boy going down than it had been coming up with Kenzly. He remembered taking two breaks just to get up. Maybe it was because Josh was doing most of the work. The poor guy already looked worn out and sweaty.

"Hey, guys?" Walter called after closing the front door.

"Shit," Drake said. He wanted to at least be in the living room before the man got back home.

"Yeah?" Josh called.

"Come downstairs! I've got a surprise!"

"Just a minute!" the boy yelled back. "We're gonna be in so much trouble."

"Whatever. We're already halfway there," said Drake. "I'll tell him I was coming down whether you helped or not." After a moment, he said, "Do you think the surprise is McDonald's? I'd kill for fast food."

Walter wouldn't let him eat anything other than soup, mashed potatoes, yogurt, etc., and they had to be in smoothie form. He wasn't allowed anything too tough or greasy. Although the doctors said that it would be fine, the man feared that it was too soon and would make him vomit, and with his jaw wired shut, that was a big choking hazard.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Mindy said.

When they reached the bottom of the steps, they all took a breath of relief. They rounded the corner, and when they did so, Drake stopped focusing so much on his footing and lifted his head. That's when he saw his mother sitting in a wheelchair.

"Mom?"

Drake suddenly felt guilty for not visiting her in the hospital. It had just been too hard to face her after everything. He didn't want her to see him this way, and he couldn't bare to see what injuries he had caused her. She had one large bruise on her head, but other than that, the scratches and contusions seemed to have faded and healed for the most part. Her severed finger, like Drake's, had been reattached. Unfortunately, she was still in her wheelchair, which meant that she still hadn't regained full mobility of her legs. Drake felt himself becoming emotional. Because of him, she was going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. There were so many little things that would change because of this. Like, what if she's thirsty? She won't even be able to reach for the cups because the cabinets are too high. And what about family photos? Every picture from here on out will be taken further back just to get the heads of both people in the frame. And how could she go to the beach, her favorite place in the entire world? How could she go to work, and how differently will everyone treat her now? Even at home, she'd never be treated the way she had been. Everyone would feel like they had to walk on eggshells around her. She would know they're discussing her condition behind closed doors. She would always be looked at with pity from here on out. Drake knew because the same thing was happening to him.

"What are you doing?" Walter looked angry. "We've talked about not moving him up and down the stairs. He could've fallen."

As Josh stammered while giving some answer that he wasn't listening to, Drake hobbled closer to his mother. Because his brother saw what he was doing, he helped him the rest of the way. Once Drake was in front of Audrey, he carefully got onto his knees, silent tears leaving his eyes. He lifted his better arm - the one with the broken wrist - and placed his hand against her cheek. Because of the cast, the only part of his skin that touched her skin was his fingertips. He had a lump in his throat, but he needed to apologize to her. His face contorted and he started to lose control. His bottom lip quivered tremendously. The second he spoke, he broke down into sobs. "I'm so sorry, Mom." His voice was filled with guilt. "I'm so sorry."

Walter, Mindy, Josh, and Megan looked on in silence. The boy had his head on Audrey's lap. Because of both of their current physical states, this was the closest thing that could pass for a hug. Drake's back jerked with his sobs. It was heartbreaking to hear him apologizing and begging for forgiveness and admitting to her that he believed he was the most horrid person in the world.

Audrey, too, was bawling her eyes out. "It's okay," she soothed, petting his hair for comfort. "I'm gonna be okay."

"I'm so sorry. I'll never forgive myself. I'm so sorry."

The woman forced him to lift his head and straighten. When he met her eyes, he felt even more guiltier than before. They were soft and still filled with love even after everything he had done. She was truly the nicest person in the world, and he didn't deserve to have her.

Audrey reached down and started to slide up his shirt. She paused to see if he would stop her. He had thought about it. He'd wanted to. It was his most degrading and humiliating scar, and although he was in pain by just letting her see it, he allowed it anyway because he owed her so much and he deserved so much pain after everything he'd put this family through. Drake hung his head when she found what she was looking for: the words branded into his skin that Josh had undoubtedly spilled to everyone. The scar would last forever, and it would be something that he was always reminded about when he looked at himself in the mirror.

"I'm so ashamed of everything." He spoke a few octaves higher than normal. "Of what I did to you. Of what he did to me."

"I am _so_ sorry," she said.

"It's not your fault."

"I married that man. This never would've happened if we had never met."

"And I never would've been born," Drake said. Although that sounded like heaven, he wanted to make her feel better. "He hurt me because I hurt him first. It had nothing to do with you."

Audrey wiped his wet cheeks and the never-ending river of tears that continuously flowed down them, then she brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Drake said again. "I'm getting clean. I swear. I'll never do anything to hurt you again. I promise I'll be better."


	16. Shunned

_(1 month later)_

"How does it feel to get that last cast off?" Walter asked as he pressed on the gas pedal.

Drake offered a smile. "It's weird," he answered honestly, massaging his naked leg.

"Can we get ice cream?" Megan said from the backseat.

Her step-father grinned. "Sure. Why not? We all deserve a treat after all the hardships this family has gone through."

"Or we could just get some from the store," Drake suggested. "And take it home so Mom can have some."

"As long as I get to pick the ice cream," said Megan.

Walter pulled into an Ingles. He let Megan out up front, then parked the car after Drake said that he didn't feel up to getting out. He'd spent a majority of his last month at home, so getting out and facing people again was something he avoided at all times. Ingles wasn't really packed with people. Sometimes, it has its rushes like any store, but it was more expensive than Walmart, and therefore, had less customers. It had a much larger variety, and their pharmacy kept their Triple C's behind a lock and key, which is why Walter shopped here whenever Drake was with him. Keeping his step-son clean was worth the extra cost for groceries.

To break the silence, Walter spoke. "How are you feeling?"

Drake knew that he was trying. God, Walter was trying so hard to make things right. It was just annoying to hear this question every five minutes as if he was so weak and fragile that he would break if he didn't talk about his feelings.

"I'm fine."

"You can talk to me," the man pushed.

"I know," said Drake. "But I'm really okay."

Walter seemed to believe him. "That's good. I'm really proud of you, you know. You've been clean for an entire month today. You've come a long way."

Drake offered a nervous smile. He didn't like to talk about it. He didn't like to think about it.

"You're doing so good." He went to place his hand on his step-son's shoulder, but Drake instinctively jerked away.

When the boy realized what he had done, he was immediately embarrassed. He hadn't meant to, and he knew that Walter's touches never had any sort of double-meaning to them. It was just his inner fear of men coming out now that Charlie wasn't around as much to dull his senses.

Drake closed his eyes and shook his head. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, it's okay." Walter pulled his hand back.

This wasn't the first time that this had happened, and Walter understood why he was this way. It wasn't even just a Walter thing. It had happened with Josh, too. It was a constant reminder to everyone around him that he'd suffered a sexual assault - _multiple_ sexual assaults - and would forever have to live with it. They didn't really need the reminder, though. Drake could feel it in the air every time he walked into a room. _"How are you today, Drake? Did you sleep good? Would you like some company while you watch tv? Can I get you anything?"_ He could clearly see how guilty they felt, almost as if the word was written on their foreheads in a neon marker. Every time his family looked at him, they saw _Drake the victim_ or _Drake the recovering addict who we're no longer angry with because he was raped_. His entire living situation was uncomfortable, and believe it or not, he would much rather be at his dad's. He preferred if Martin's death had never happened. He'd rather be back there taking the abuse if that meant that no one would know about it.

"I just..." Drake started. He wanted to explain why he'd pulled away so quickly, but he couldn't think of a better lie.

"Don't worry about it," Walter said. "I understand that your dad did some things to you that you weren't comfortable with. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

 _Jesus, then shut the fuck up!_ Drake felt his face go red, and he wrapped his arms around himself to make himself smaller and shield himself for this humiliating conversation. He wished that Megan would hurry up. Drake cleared his throat. "It's fine," he said quietly.

"I wish you would talk to me," Walter said. "I don't want you to keep everything inside. I don't want you to feel like you have to go through this alone. We're both men, and I'm telling you that it's okay to let me in." He didn't like his wording even though Drake didn't take notice until he made a big deal about it. "Not in that way. I just - I mean..."

 _Oh my God. Somebody, please, kill me._ "It's okay," Drake said.

"Someone you can talk to. Someone who will listen to you. You like to shut people out, but you have this need, and I believe I can fulfill it if you let me." After a moment, he stammered over his words again. "That didn't sound - that's not what I -"

"I understand." _Please, stop talking. Please, stop talking. Please, stop talking. Megan, where the fuck are you?_

"What I'm trying to say is that I think it would really help if you had someone to talk to. Just let me be there for you."

Drake just wanted this conversation to be over, so to please his step-father, he said, "Okay." _Is it rude if I turn on the radio?_

And if he ever doubted God's existence before, he believed now, for the backdoor opened and Megan got into the car. "I got pistachio almond and triple chocolate chunk."

* * *

"Christmas cast her vote for...Paul," the host Julie Chen said on the television.

"No surprise there," said Mindy.

"Who do you think will win, Drake?" Megan asked her brother.

"America's Favorite Player? Or _Big Brother_ in general?"

 _Big Brother_ : a reality game show that this family goes absolutely nuts about. The way you would imagine a normal family celebrating the Super Bowl - that's how the Parker-Nichols family responded to this game. It's about a group of players locked in a house with no contact from the outside world, and each week, one player gets voted out until there are only two left, then a jury of the evicted houseguests gather and vote for a winner. It was a tradition introduced by Josh's family when Walter and the boy had moved in. Drake had watched that season because his mother had forced him to be kind and bond with their new family, but after that awkward first year of living with new people, the young man quit pretending he cared. It wasn't a bad show. It was more the fact that he didn't want to have family time. That meant that he would have to endure being dragged into debates and people would ask for his thoughts and strategies and predictions, and maybe they cared about his opinions - they probably partly did - but they also couldn't deny that they just wanted to engage Drake in conversation so that he couldn't isolate himself, which he desperately wanted to do.

"BB," Megan answered. In case it wasn't obvious by her slang, Megan was probably the most obsessed out of all of them. She constantly checked her Twitter for updates and always knew what was going on inside the house before they showed it on the episode. However, the final vote was live, so she had no idea who the winner would be.

"I don't know." Drake had only watched the show for one out of the three months that this season had been airing, and everyone this season had been pretty dislikable personality-wise. "Maybe Paul."

Julie Chen pulled the next key out of the slot and held it up to the camera. "Kevin has cast his vote for Paul to be the winner of _Big Brother_."

"See?" Megan looked at her mom.

"I'm telling you," Audrey said. "They better vote for Josh to win because Paul was annoying."

"Why was he annoying?"

"Because he controlled the whole game using bullying tactics."

"But he controlled the whole game!" Megan argued.

"Alex has cast her vote for...Josh."

"Alex turned on Paul," Josh said excitedly to no one in particular.

"I liked him last year," Audrey admitted, continuing her debate with her daughter, "but he was rude this year. Bringing back a returning player ruined the season."

"Raven's vote goes to...Paul."

"Everyone was rude," Megan defended. "Not just him. Remember Jason's rape comment? And Jessica's butt-poking? And Alex throwing away the slop so that Kevin couldn't eat?" These were all things that the show hadn't aired, but they'd happened on the 24/7 live feeds.

"Jason has cast his vote for...Josh."

Currently, Megan, Josh, Drake, and Mindy were for Paul, while Audrey and Walter were for Josh. Drake felt himself becoming anxious, and he caught his leg jumping, but it wasn't because of the show and the possible outcome. It was because it was getting late and his mind was wandering to darker places. He tried to push the thoughts to the side, but they kept coming. _Oh, God, not tonight_ , he begged.

"Matt has cast his vote for...Paul."

"He's got this in the bag," Megan said.

"It's not looking good for Josh," Josh teased his parents.

"What about America's Fav then?"

 _Who is she asking? Is she asking me?_ Drake's questions were answered when everyone turned to look at him. "I don't know. They're all so lovable," he said sarcastically, then gave himself a mental pat on the back when everyone laughed. Maybe now he could excuse himself since the others believed that he was acting normal.

"But for real," Megan prodded.

"I guess Kevin."

Everyone seemed to agree, so Megan had to burst their bubbles like she so often did. She loved doing it, too.

"Actually, everyone on Twitter was talking about voting for Cody so that Paul and his minions would see how disliked they are."

"Really? His gameplay was so bad," said Mindy.

Jesus, it was so fucking hard to sit there and listen to everyone speak for some reason. He hated this! He hated the family time! He hated the conversations! He hated the smiles and laughter! He hated the fucking lights! It was all too much. All he wanted was to sit in a dark room alone except for Charlie.

"Mark has cast his vote for Josh to be the winner of _Big Brother_."

"He's making a comeback," Audrey said. "It's not over yet."

That was unfortunate. All Drake wanted was for this to be over. All he wanted was to get upstairs and-

"Elena has cast her vote for Josh to be the winner of _Big Brother_."

The house exploded at that point. Walter obnoxiously clapped his hands and jumped onto his feet excitedly. Megan actually started to look worried.

"Cody's the last vote. Oh, no," Mindy said with her fingers on both temples. She was already pre-mourning a loss that she knew would come. "There's no way he'll vote for Paul."

"Not after Paul fought so hard and got the whole house to bully Cody," Audrey said.

 _Jesus, hurry up! No, what am I doing? I can't keep doing this. I made a promise._ Drake looked over at his mother, who was sitting in her wheelchair. Thankfully, she was getting a lot out of physical therapy, and they believed that she still had a chance to fully recover, but that didn't mean that Drake should start allowing himself to fuck up again. It was just so fucking hard to say no.

Everyone was listening intently as Julie Chen spoke. Drake didn't think they listened to him nearly as intently, which said something because all they did was try to pick at his brain these days.

"We have four votes for Paul. Four votes for Josh. Cody is the last vote." Julie reached for the key, and everyone was on the edge of their seats as she held it up to the camera. "Congratulations, Josh! You are the winner of _Big Brother_!"

Drake glanced at his family for cues on how he should feel. Audrey and Walter were high-fiving and screaming, which somehow seemed to put the young man at more of a panic. Josh and Mindy were disappointed, but since this was Mindy's first year watching, she wasn't taking it nearly as hard as Josh...or Megan for that matter. _Jesus, is she...she is actually crying._ Audrey stopped celebrating when she saw this, and Walter wrapped his arms around his step-daughter.

"It's okay," the man said.

"He just wanted it so bad," she sobbed.

She was actually full-on bawling. There was a lot of crying. She was crying. Paul was crying. Josh, the newest winner of _Big Brother_ , was crying.

"He lost five to four last year, and he lost five to four this year. And Cody's gonna win America's Favorite and Paul will see how hated he is. Then he's gonna go home and see all the Twitter hate from millions of viewers."

Drake's mind twisted everyone's reactions into one that best suited his needs. He decided to be upset about the outcome. That way, he'd have a reason to use. Wow, he was already starting to feel much better.

"Where are you going?" Josh asked.

"Yeah, don't you wanna wait until after the commercial to see who America's Favorite Player is?" said Mindy.

"The whole voting thing got me all excited, so now I have to go to the bathroom." It was a believable lie. When he and Megan used to play hide-and-seek when they were younger, he always got so excited that he'd have to leave his hiding spot to pee. "Just text me the winner."

Drake made his way upstairs and went into the bathroom. His hands were actually shaking, and his face felt hot. Unfortunately, he couldn't take the pills before he talked himself out of it because they weren't opened yet. He was just thankful that Rhinestone had come through for him. The young man reached up on top of the medicine cabinet and felt around the dust for his boxes. He was just going to take two...one...no, two. He didn't want to get too fucked up, but he wanted to make sure that the pills worked. He grabbed the scissors, which were in the same hiding place, and started cutting open his packages. He tried hard to think about something else - anything else other than the nausea. _Jesus, why do these have to taste so terrible?_ He felt so sick to his stomach, and he was so nervous and mentally out of it that his teeth were chattering in between swallowing each group of four.

 **Boom.**

 **Boom!**

 **BOOM!**

Drake started to think that the consistent loud noise was his heart beating. God, he wanted to throw up so badly. It only became clear seconds later that the racket was actually Walter and Josh dragging Audrey and her wheelchair up the stairs.

Audrey and her wheelchair...

 _What am I doing? Why am I doing this again?_ Drake set down the package that he hadn't yet opened. _I can't keep doing this. I made a promise. God, but I want them so fucking bad._ The young man's mental strife made him emotional. He stared at his reflection, hoping to see a strong, determined man staring back at him, but he did not. His voice cracked when he whispered, "Oh, fuck!" He banged his palm against the sink, and his face contorted when tears started to fall. _You fucking owe her. Don't hurt her again. I need it, though. I'll be so careful this time. You're gonna do something you regret. If you don't stop now, you never will. But there's always tomorrow, though. Paul didn't win_ Big Brother _, and I'm hurt. Do it. It's not a big deal anyway. You haven't been sober for more than four days since you ran out of pain meds. If you don't do them today, you'll just do them tomorrow._

"Goodnight, Drake," Audrey called as she rolled past the closed door. "I love you."

The young man cleared his throat and sniffled. "Love you," he called back, and he felt extremely guilty. In fact, he was about to pour the rest of the pills into the toilet and flush them away forever, but then he remembered that he'd already taken some, so he was going to get high either way. _Might as well do it right and have a good high._ And that's how he convinced himself to finish tearing open the packages and swallow the pills.

* * *

Drake groaned when he felt someone shaking him awake. He dreadfully opened his eyes and saw Mindy sitting on his loft with her feet hanging over the edge. He glanced at his window and saw the sun shining brightly through the leaves on the tree outside, then stretched his arms out and spoke with a deep, strained voice. "Gmm, what time is it?"

"It's four in the afternoon. You've been sleeping all day. And don't think I don't know why."

Drake looked at her and his eyebrows pointed downwards. "The fuck are you doing?" He was angry. "You're not supposed to be climbing ladders. You're fucking pregnant." He pushed himself up and removed the comforter, then he hopped off of the loft and reached his hand up for her to take.

She hesitantly did. "It's not that big of a deal. I'm not helpless, you know."

"It _is_ a big deal. You have a life growing inside of you. Any sort of fall could do a lot of damage."

Mindy took the last step off of the ladder. "I didn't think you cared." The tone of her voice made it obvious that she had more harsh words to say.

Drake sighed. "Don't do this." He could tell an argument was coming, one that had been ongoing for a while now.

"Do what?" she said innocently. "It just makes no sense. I get scolded by _you_ of all people for climbing a little ladder while you're getting fucked up? You're such a hypocrite."

"Really? Are we gonna do this whole spiel again?"

"I'll do it everyday until you take responsibility."

"Mindy, I can't," Drake said firmly. "You know I fucking can't."

"You can. You just don't want to."

This never-ending argument was almost word-for-word each time it started up again. They always brought up the same points, but both were too stubborn to concede. However, Drake was tired of it.

"You're right. I don't want to," he admitted matter-of-factly.

Mindy was actually taken by surprise at his words.

"Is that what you wanna hear?"

"You can't just bail."

"I can, though. And Josh would be a much better dad anyway. It's a win-win for both of us."

"You're such a jerk!" She was angry, which was understandable.

"But I told you that it was a mistake and that I didn't want any part of it. I begged you to get an abortion. _You_ decided that _you_ wanted to keep it."

" _Her_ ," Mindy sharply corrected.

"I told you a hundred times that I didn't."

"You know that I don't believe in abortion." Even though this was a subject that they had talked about last summer during a Charlie trip, she could see that he didn't remember this fact, but she wasn't all that surprised.

"How would this ever work anyway? Ten years from now, she'll grow up knowing that I'm her dad but see you kissing Josh. You'll probably be married to him by then. You'll be married to her dad's brother. She's gonna start to question it. She's gonna think you're a slut."

 _SMACK!_

Drake was shocked by her violent outburst. His head had turned with the force of the blow. For a moment, when his eyes were closed, his mind filled with vivid nightmarish flashbacks of his father. When he opened his eyes again, she noticed that he was a completely different person. He had stepped back to distance himself, and he wrapped his arms around his own chest as if to shield himself. His firm voice was gone and was replaced with a more meek and begging tone.

"That's not how I meant it. You're not a slut. It was a bad choice of words, and I apologize. I just meant that the whole situation would be weird. I mean, you did fuck around on Josh." He said the words cautiously. "And when she's older and starts to piece things together, it's all gonna come out. She's gonna know that you were unfaithful, and she's gonna know that I'm just a shitty brother."

Mindy remained quiet and allowed him to speak for a change.

"Josh is so perfect. He's super nice, and he's smart, and after everything we did, he still loves us. He wants to be there for you. He wants to be there for this kid," Drake said. "I mean, look at me. I can't even fucking stay clean. When I was kicked out of my dad's and lived on the street for two weeks, I stole and I did some humiliating things just to get money for Charlie. That's the degree of addicted that I am. There's no bouncing back from that, Mindy."

She was surprised that he admitted such a shameful secret to her, but deep down, she appreciated that he could still tell her the things he used to only share with her when they were high together.

"Do you really trust _me_ of all people to be alone with a baby?"

"You babysat for your aunt and her kids loved you."

"The second day I was there, Sophie went through my bag, and I found her playing in some meth that Rhinestone had given me. Three days after that, my dad beat the shit out of me in front of her, and I couldn't do anything to keep her calm because I was too scared to stick up for myself."

Mindy had to process this new information. There was a lot about Drake that she didn't know. He had kept his life private so well, which was shocking because she used to feel like she knew everything about him when they used together.

"Haven't you noticed that everyone around me is dying or getting hurt in some horrible way? The best choice that you could make for this baby is to keep it as far away from me as possible."

* * *

When Drake entered the kitchen, he saw Josh standing inches behind their mother. He had his hands around her waist, but he wasn't touching her. However, if she fell, he was ready to catch her. She had been doing a lot of physical therapy, and she seemed to actually be recovering rather speedily.

"Well, look who's finally up," Josh said. "Mom's cooking dinner tonight."

"Hey, sweetie. How are you feeling?" She gave him a smile.

"I'm fine." He went over to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. His stomach felt completely empty because of the Triple C's from the previous night, and when he swallowed the water down, it felt as if he hadn't gotten any fuller. He knew not to drink fast on the days after Charlie because that was nauseating.

"Did you sleep okay?" she asked, wondering why he was just now waking up.

"I kept having nightmares," he lied to explain why he seemed so exhausted.

Nightmares meant vivid dreams about his father, and vivid dreams about his father meant that Audrey would feel sympathetic and maybe a bit guilty, and therefore, she wouldn't continue to question just how late he'd slept.

Drake's pocket vibrated. He slipped his hand inside and pulled out his phone.

 **Kenzly: send peen pic**

 **Drake: im comi.n over**

"Um, Kenzly wanted me to come over to watch a movie," Drake said to his mom. "If that's okay."

"Yeah, sure. Josh, do you mind dropping him off?"

"It's okay. I'll walk," the boy said.

"Nonsense. You just got the cast off of your leg yesterday."

"I think I should stay here," Josh said, nervous about his step-mother cooking without any supervision. "But I'm sure Mindy wouldn't mind."

The mentioned girl stepped into the kitchen. "Wouldn't mind what?" she asked.

Audrey said, "Drake was wondering if you could take him to Kenzly's."

"Really, I'll be fine walking," said Drake. He knew that he was kind of an asshole for not wanting the baby, and Mindy owed him nothing.

"I'll drive you," Mindy said kindly as if their previous conversation hadn't happened.

Maybe she didn't agree with Drake about supporting the baby, but she was beginning to understand why and where he was coming from. Also, their time alone in the car would give her the privacy that she needed to apologize to Drake for slapping him. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about the sudden change she'd seen in his attitude. What he'd gone through at his father's was cruel and absolutely gruesome, and she didn't want to be responsible for triggering some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder.

* * *

Despite Mindy's plans to apologize, the car ride was mostly silent and awkward. As an attempt to lessen the tension, Drake had fiddled around with the radio, but he hated the pop garbage that they played on the radio, so it was pretty much a lost cause. How long until they got to Kenzly's? Irritated with the shitty music that was playing through the speakers, Drake turned the volume down to avoid getting a headache and sat back in his seat. He pulled out his cell phone.

 **Kenzly: hungry?**

Drake responded with a fairly detailed but horribly spelled text message that involved eating out her pussy and other explicit things he was going to do to her when he got there.

 **Kenzly: I meant food :|**

 **Drake: o nah**

 **Kenzly: but that sounds nice 2 [water droplets emoji]**

 **Kenzly: keep talkin**

Just before Drake could start typing again, Mindy spoke. "I'm sorry for slapping you."

The boy looked over at her, surprised that she'd actually broken the silence and that her voice was kind after their heated argument. "It's fine." He shrugged it off and put his eyes back onto his phone screen, but she wouldn't drop the subject.

"It's not fine."

"Just don't make a thing out of it, okay?" He knew that this would somehow lead to talking about his dad, and that was countering the arousal that he had been feeling moments before.

"But it is a big deal."

"It's not." He was thankful that she didn't go any further. He turned his attention back to his phone, and read over what he had wrote to recap and get himself back into the mood. Just when he was about to start typing again, he heard a sob coming from next to him. He looked over and saw that Mindy's eyes were pouring with tears, and she was trying so hard not to cry audibly. "Jesus, are you crying?" He slipped his phone into his pocket. "I'm sorry. I know I'm a prick for-"

"It's okay."

"I didn't mean to snap at you-"

"You didn't. I just - it's the stupid fucking pregnancy hormones."

Drake still felt super guilty. He was part of the reason she had to put up with them anyway. "I'm sorry."

"I just wanted to apologize, and it may not be a big deal to you, but it's a big deal to me. I'm not a violent person, and you just don't even care what I have to say." She turned the car into the parking lot of an abandoned church on the side of the empty road, then she put it in park so that she could wipe away her tears. She knew that it was stupid, and the fact that she couldn't stop crying made her cry even harder, which made it impossible to drive.

"I know you're not a violent person. I do care. I just hate knowing that you're thinking about the things my dad did to me. I don't like talking about it. But if you need to say something, I'm listening."

The girl's voice cracked severely as she choked out, "I just didn't mean to hit you."

"I know. I know you didn't. It's really okay. It didn't even hurt anything but my pride, but I was being a complete jerk to you anyway. I disrespected you, and you just put me back in line, so it's okay." Drake turned in his seat. "Please, don't cry."

She shamefully covered her eyes with her hand as she let go of a couple sobs. Her words were almost incomprehensible. "I just don't understand why he would do that to you."

"He was an alcoholic. His brain was always clouded up. He was nicer when he was sober, but he was an addict. Like us. He couldn't help it. I'm okay, though. I'm really okay."

"And this whole time I was such a fool. You had me believing you were getting jumped by people in your neighborhood. And I never even questioned it. And it was right in front of my face. I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid. I'm sorry I lied."

"I just had no reason not to believe you."

"I know. I didn't mean to make you feel like a fool. I trust you probably more than anyone. It wasn't all fake. Everything I said to you was real. Everything we did."

"I just feel so alone. It used to be me and you against the world, but now it's just me and this baby and you're against us."

"I'm not against you!" Drake. Felt. Like. Shit. "It's not you. It's not the baby. It's me. I'm a fucking mess."

"Oh, that classic break-up line. I'm sure you've used that on a bunch of girls."

Drake didn't feel like he was making her feel any better. "Mindy, I fucking love you. Jesus, I care about you...so much. More than I care about myself. I've never been good at showing it. I mean, I just show it differently. I showed it by getting you high when your mom bailed. I showed it by putting a box of Triple C's in your hand when she passed away. I showed it by sharing Charlie, _the love of my life_ , with you when you were hurting. And now you're pregnant. You have a life growing inside of you - one that we made together. And that's fucking awesome! But the only way that I know how to show love...it's just not a good attribute for a father. It's not that I hate you or the baby. I don't. I just fucking hate myself. You did nothing wrong. She did nothing wrong. It really is me, no matter how cliche that sounds. And I would love nothing more than to tell you that I'm gonna work on myself, and I'll get better, and I'll be a better person, and I'll be there for you, and I'll be there for this kid, but...I'm not gonna get better, Mindy. It's just not gonna happen. This is it for me. And I know that one day, these pills are gonna kill me, but I can't stop." After a moment, he added more quietly, "I don't want to stop."

Listening to his long speech had actually distracted her from crying. She sniffled and dried her eyes.

"Addiction is like a non-stop chase. It's like you're always running towards something, but you never catch it, and at the same time, you're always running away from something, but you never get far enough ahead to find a safe place to hide. I'm always running, and I get so fucking tired, but I can't stop. And it's so fucked up because I know that, one day, I'm gonna choke on my own vomit, or my organs will finally shut down, or my brain will be permanently damaged, or I'll just take too many and fucking overdose. For the rest of my life, I'm gonna be running. It's gonna be non-stop exhaustion and suffering and misery. I will regret every moment that I didn't have you by my side, but I don't wanna drag you or my daughter down any more than I already have because you mean everything to me."

This was the first time that he had actually owned up and claimed the baby as his daughter. Mindy now more understood the reason Drake was so resistant to be apart of their family, and it made much more sense than his older excuse. She missed when they used together and could be honest about anything like this. She missed the intimacy they had had by being completely vulnerable and honest about their deepest and darkest feelings. She missed Drake.

Suddenly, she grabbed the boy's shirt and yanked him closer. She pressed her lips against his. He was shocked, but for some reason, he couldn't get himself to pull away. He felt his heartbeat quicken as if he was back in middle school and the hottest girl in his grade had just agreed to go out with him. It was something that he hadn't felt since being with Meelah. This was awful. It was gonna be heartbreak all over again. But not yet. Not now. Maybe after this.

Mindy tugged on his clothes to invite him over to her seat. He climbed on top of her, being extremely cautious about her large baby bump when she pulled the handle and dropped her seat all the way backwards, then he connected their lips again. The girl reached down and started unbuckling his belt.

"We shouldn't do this," he breathed heavily. He was already sweating. He unbuttoned the girl's shirt and gazed at her cleavage with admiration.

"Definitely not." She pushed his underwear down until his ass was hanging out.

Drake pulled her skirt up, then removed her panties completely and tossed them into the backseat. He gripped her thighs as she lifted her knees up to his sides to allow him easier access. She unhooked her bra, which was secured in the front, then pulled it open to reveal her lady parts. She could feel Drake's erection against her skin. Mindy grabbed a fistful of the hair on the back of his head, then guided his mouth right in between her breasts.

After the sex and their amazing orgasms, Drake, once again, felt the need to confess his feelings as he panted for air. "Jesus, I fucking love you."

* * *

Drake saw Kenzly standing in front of the counter and slicing an apple. Her back was to him, but he could tell that she had her music in because she hadn't heard him come in. He didn't usually knock when he entered her house. They were just that close, and a lot of times, he would come through the window anyway.

The young man approached her from behind. He placed his hands on her hips and leaned against her so that he could press his lips against the side of her neck.

She grinned, then pulled out her earbuds. "Hello, come right it," she said in a flawless Charlie Kelly voice. Right off the bat with the _Sunny_ references.

Drake took a deep breath, taking in her scent. He continued nibbling on her neck, his warm breath causing goosebumps to rise on her skin. Kenzly was immediately relaxed. She placed her hands on top of his, then guided his up her body and to her breasts.

Things got hot and heavy pretty quickly. Drake was already ready to go again in no time. It wasn't long before the young man unbuttoned her super short jeans shorts and slipped his hand under the waistband of her panties. She moaned with pleasure when his finger slipped inside of her, and she leaned her head back against his shoulder and reached her arm around so that she could grip a fistful of his hair.

* * *

Drake exhaled a cloud of smoke. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest and his breathing was still heavy. He watched as Kenzly grabbed an ash tray off of her windowsill, then brought it over to him. She was still fully unclothed. Drake was mostly nude except for his tee shirt, which he'd refused to remove. He was very self-conscious about the scars his father had inflected upon him, and Kenzly was cool enough that his insecurities didn't bother her or turn her off.

"Your mom won't get pissed about us smoking in the house?"

"Her lousy boyfriend does it." The girl lit her own cigarette.

"He's back again?"

She nodded. "He's like a fucking cold that you can't get rid of."

"You could stay at my house tonight," Drake suggested.

"I might take you up on that offer," Kenzly said, and then without thinking, she said, "I wish I could be more like you and actually kill the son of a bitch."

They were both taken aback by her words. Drake had no response at all, and honestly, he was hurt that she'd said it. Whether people thought that Martin deserved it or not, Drake was a murderer. He had taken a life. It was much bigger than even he could comprehend. It hadn't yet fully set it, and he wasn't sure it ever would. When he thought about it, it never felt real. It was just some blur in his brain that was more like a bad dream than anything else.

"Shit," she said. When she turned to face him, it was obvious that she was just as shocked as he was. "I didn't mean that."

"It's okay." Drake just wanted to move past it and pretend that it had never been said.

The great thing about Kenzly was that she understood the boy more than most. Perhaps it was because they were practically the same person. She was the female version of him. Unlike what Walter would've done, she immediately dropped the subject.

At that moment, they heard the front door open, and the house was immediately flooded with yelling.

Kenzly pushed herself up and went over to her closet. "Yeah, let's go to your house."

* * *

Drake, Kenzly, and Megan were sitting in the boy's bedroom - the girls on the couch and Drake in the recliner. It was completely dark other than the television, which was showing a video game. It had been Megan's idea to play a horror game. It had been between _Outlast_ and _Until Dawn_ , and the trailer for _Outlast_ had looked a lot more terrifying because it involved night vision, so they all took turns getting past the monsters and making their way out of Mount Massive Asylum. Mindy had been exhausted, and she didn't like to watch scary things anymore because being pregnant gave her some crazy dreams, so she and Josh were staying the night in Megan's bed.

"Ahhh! God damn!" Kenzly jumped out of her skin, then immediately frowned, angry that the jumpscare had even affected her. "That was so fucking stupid."

The other two laughed at her even though they all let go of their fair share of screams and curses.

"I'm getting hungry," Megan said. She paused the game to take a sip of her soda.

Drake turned his head that way and noticed that both of the girls that were on the couch were looking at him expectantly. "That's not fair."

Kenzly stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. Megan was doing the same.

"That's not gonna work. You two always stick together and gang up on me."

They continued making their adorable faces, knowing that the boy couldn't say no for too much longer. And sure enough, he gave in.

"Jesus, fine! You guys suck." He stood while the two girls grinned and gave one another a high five.

"Can you grab me another coffee, too," Kenzly said while holding out her cup, and when he gave her a glare, she made her pouty face again. "Please?"

The young man took the mug. "You guys _could_ come downstairs with me."

"I think he's scared," Megan whispered teasingly.

Drake rolled his eyes, then opened the door and left the room. The only light that was on in the entire house was the one on the staircase, for it gave off a little light both upstairs and downstairs in case someone needed to go to the bathroom or kitchen. Drake had never been one who was scared of the dark, but he had to admit that he felt pretty on edge being downstairs by himself without any light. Maybe it was because of the video game. Maybe it was because of his recent nightmares. Maybe it was because he feared that his dad was lurking somewhere in the darkness, ready to torture him from beyond.

After a few minutes, Drake was heading back upstairs. He had a tray in his hand, and in that tray were two cups of coffee, a bag of popcorn, a soda, and a pack of Chips Ahoy! chocolate chip cookies. He made his way down the hall, and upon arriving at his room, he found that it was empty. He immediately knew that he was about to be the victim of a scare.

"Oh, hell no. Fuck this." He turned, and his decision to bail backfired on him, for the two girls were right behind him after having crept behind him since he'd passed the bathroom. His body jerked. "Jesus fucking shit!"

Megan and Kenzly giggled quietly.

"You guys are dicks. Walter's gonna yell at me if we wake him up." Not to mention the foul language. Drake had to learn to get a hold of his profanity.

"Maybe if you didn't scream like a little girl-" Megan started.

Drake rolled his eyes and went into his bedroom. It was a miracle that he hadn't spilled either of the coffees, and the two girls were lucky that Drake was one to cower instead of fight back in the face of sudden danger.

Kenzly grabbed a cup, then took a sip. The second the coffee touched her tongue, her face contorted. "What is this?!"

Drake took it from her. "I think that one's mine."

"You couldn't have gotten a different color cup?"

"They are different. This one's a light blue. It's just dark in here."

Kenzly wasn't really listening to what he was saying, for her senses were still shocked. "You drink room-temperature, black coffee?"

Drake shrugged. "Why drink something that would scald your mouth?"

"Why are you drinking coffee at all?" Megan said. "You two keep saying how anxious this game makes you. Coffee's just gonna make it way worse."

"My entire life is based on bad decisions, so why stop now?" the boy said.

Megan imitated throwing the game controller to him so that he knew she was about to. When he looked ready, she tossed it at him, then grabbed a couple cookies out of the sleeve.

"And I'm pretty sure I'll die if I stop now after all the cups I've had," Kenzly said. She picked up the popcorn and pulled the bag open.

"Yeah, you're definitely a caffeine junkie," said Drake, pressing start on the game to take it off of pause. "I just started another pot of coffee because I know you're gonna want more soon."

"Shut up." Kenzly threw a piece of popcorn at him.

Drake looked down at his lap where it had fallen and picked it up, then he put it into his mouth. The three turned their attention towards the screen as the character roamed around a fenced area so full of fog that they couldn't see the monsters until they were dangerously close. Drake really appreciated nights like these. It made it easier to stay clean when he was preoccupied with something fun. He was pretty sure that Megan knew, for she always came to him with fun things to do at night. He was glad that she was talking to him again. She had been pissed about him hiding the abuse from her, but things were starting to get better with her. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when they had gotten along so well. It was much easier to stay sober when he was around her, and not because he felt guilty using in front of his younger sister, but because he felt no pressure or judgement from her. It was just natural. For example, she wasn't like, _"Even though I don't want to, I guess I'll play video games with Drake to distract him from his miserable life so he won't get high."_ Drake felt like he was in that sort of situation a lot recently. However, Megan actually just wanted to play a video game with him and spend time with him, and the fact that it was a helpful distraction for him was a plus, but it wasn't her main intent. They had been pitted against one another at a young age by their father. The two never got along because Megan was taught to believe that her brother deserved his punishments, and Drake had feelings of inferiority and jealousy towards her. Now they were beginning to heal, and their relationship was growing stronger every day.

* * *

Drake's eyes shot open and he took in several deep breaths. He found that he was clutching his neck, for he could remember not being able to breathe during his nightmare. _When will they ever end?!_ He pushed himself into a sitting position and tiredly leaned his forehead against his hands, his elbows on his knees. He picked up his phone off of the coffee table in front of him. It read 7:30. _Fucking hell. I only slept an hour?_

Although light was beginning to creep through the windows, he was too shaken up to go back to sleep. His body was pouring with sweat, and his fingers were even trembling. He hated that his father still affected him so much even though he was long gone.

Drake pushed himself to his feet. His body ached intensely since he'd slept on the couch. He looked over and saw Kenzly sleeping in his bed and Megan in Josh's and Mindy's bed. He was jealous of how easily they slept.

He stretched his arms over his head and let go of a moan as his stiff bones popped, then he quietly tip-toed out of the room. He went into the bathroom to relieve himself, and afterwards, he washed his hands and brushed his teeth. Drake made his way down the hall and he trudged down the stairs. He heard clanging coming from the kitchen, so he followed the noise.

"Good morning," Audrey said with a smile.

"Mornin'," he groaned, sitting down at the kitchen table to rest.

"You're up early," she said. "Did you have another nightmare?"

"Yeah," he said with exhaustion. He didn't even have the strength to come up with some sort of lie to keep himself from sounding like a weak little bitch.

"It's never too late to make an appointment for a counselor. I really think it would help," she said.

A scratchy "Mmm" was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

Audrey looked over and saw that his eyes were closed and he was resting his head on his arms. She frowned, then pushed the wheels on her chair until she was next to him. He was a horrible sight. He had bags under his eyes, and he looked sick. When she reached out to touch his forehead, his body jumped with fear at the sudden touch, and his eyelids flew open to show off how bloodshot they were. Within seconds, he had dozed off at the kitchen table again. After further examination, she saw that he had fresh scratches on his neck as a result of yet another dream about being strangled. When could her poor son catch a break?

"Drake?" she whispered softly as an attempt not to scare him. "Sweetie?"

Once again, his eyes flew open. "Hmm?" he groaned.

"Come on. Let's go into the living room."

The young man lifted his head off of the table and rubbed his eyes. "I'm okay."

"Let's go."

He knew then that she wasn't asking. Drake stood, then grabbed the handles of her chair and pushed her into the next room. He helped her onto the couch, and when she patted next to her for him to lay down, he did. He rested his head on her thigh like she wanted him to, and when she started rubbing his back and running her gentle fingers through his hair, he fell asleep once again.

* * *

Drake dreamed that he was back at his father's. It was January first, the horrible day that he couldn't stop reliving every time he closed his eyes.

"I bet if you stopped wiggling, it would be easier to get some air," Martin said from his chair.

Drake couldn't stop kicking his feet, though, as he hung from the belt loop, the leather tightly constricting his neck. Tears poured across his cheeks. "Kkkk! Ghuuh!" He tore at his skin with his fingernails until they were broken and covered with blood.

It felt like hours that he had been hanging here taking in as much air that he possibly could. He could see that Martin was aroused. The man had unzipped his jeans and was tugging on himself. Drake let go of a strangled sob as his naked body hung on display for his father to see.

How much longer would he be here? How much longer could he go on getting the bare minimum amount of oxygen. He prayed that he could succumb to darkness. He was ready to die. He just wanted out of this painful hell.

He reached his hand out towards his father as his tears dropped onto the floor, mixing with the blood and creating a puddle under his feet. Somehow, he managed to croak out a single word: "Daddy?"

To Drake's surprise, the man actually stood then, and he moved closer. He slowly lifted his arm and slipped his hand into his son's hand. He could feel Drake squeezing him tightly, begging him the only way he currently could. The boy was so terrified that his hand was shaking, and Martin could feel the vibration.

Unfortunately, instead of helping his son down, he lifted his right hand that he'd jerked himself off with and wiped his cum on Drake's face, starting at the forehead, on top of his nose, over his lips, and down his chin. He started to pull away then, but his son wouldn't let go of his hand. He wouldn't give up the hope that somewhere deep inside of Martin was a heart.

"Huuuuh! Uhhkk!" Breathing was getting harder and harder. Maybe it would all be over soon.

Martin snatched his hand away when Drake was too focused on his breathing. The young man tried to reach for it again, but Martin wrapped his arms around his son's legs, then went limp, forcing Drake's neck to hold the weight of two.

Drake went into panic mode. "Aauuuuhh!" His mouth was open as wide as it would go and his eyes were shut tight. He couldn't move. He was stuck that way. At first, he'd tried to tear away at the belt, but the lack of oxygen put a stop to all his motor skills, for his fingers straightened as far as they would go and did nothing to help him. He felt paralyzed, and it was absolutely terrifying. He couldn't remember how to kick. He couldn't remember how bend his fingers. He couldn't remember how to scream.

Martin could feel Drake's body involuntarily convulsing, for his head rested against the boy's stomach. At this moment, he lifted his son up, and finally, he could breathe.

"Huuuuuuuuh!"

However, Martin only allowed that one breath of air before going limp once more. Drake grabbed a fistful of his father's hair, but there was nothing he could really do with it. The man lifted his head and looked up at his son's face, which expressed an intense amount of fear and inexplicable pain. He eyes were squeezed tight, and his mouth was open as if he were screaming at the top of his lungs, but he couldn't get a sound out. Tears bled from his eyes, snot trickled from his nostrils, and saliva dripped down his lips and across his chest. And then once again, the man lifted him to allow him to get some air.

"Huuuuuu-"

Martin lowered him to his normal hanging height and pulled away after getting Drake's fingers untangled from his hair. He took a step back, then picked up a bottle of vodka that was sitting on the floor next to where his chair had been. He twisted the cap off, then splashed some onto Drake's face. The young man closed his eyes. Moments later, Drake felt it streaming down his shoulders and all over his skin. His nose burned at the strong scent. He hated vodka. It was nauseating. His entire body was doused in it. He could feel it dripping off of his toes. He opened his eyes again when he heard a quiet noise and saw a lighter in his father's hand, the flame dancing around. Drake furrowed his eyebrows with desperation. He couldn't speak with the belt around his neck, so he mouthed the word _please_. Martin ignored it, then moved the lighter towards Drake's penis and allowed the flame to engulf his pubic hair and spread across his skin.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! AAAAAAHHHH! AAAAHHH! AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"Drake! Drake, wake up! Drake!"

The young man's eyes shot open and he sat up. His hair was dripping with sweat, and his clothes were stuck to his body. He was breathing rapidly, and he had tears in his eyes, for he'd actually been crying in his sleep. He was trembling more than anyone here had seen before.

"Jesus, are you okay?!" It was Josh, and Mindy stood not far behind him. The young man sat down next to him. He expected his brother to wipe his eyes, sniffle away his snot, and calm himself like he always did, but this time, Drake broke down into even more tears. Josh wrapped the boy into a hug, holding one hand behind his head so that he knew he could lean on his shoulder. "It's okay. It was just a nightmare."

Mindy took a seat on the opposite side of Drake and rubbed soothing circles into his back. Yesterday, things had gotten pretty hot and heavy between the two in the car. This was the exact opposite of hot. This was pathetic.

Drake was embarrassed, but he couldn't get himself to stop. His voice went up an octave as he choked out, "I'm so tired of this shit."

Josh was curious as to what his nightmare had been about. He and Mindy had been in the kitchen, and when he'd heard screaming, he ran into the living room to find Drake grabbing himself. "He can't hurt you anymore. You're not alone anymore. You've got an entire family that will fight for you."

His words actually did seem to calm his brother a lot. After five minutes, Drake was still weeping and sniffling, but his breathing was much slower. It was only nine o'clock. Before Audrey and Walter had left for her physical therapy appointment, she'd said he'd only been asleep for twenty minutes. It was probably just a little over an hour in total. It was obvious that his brother wasn't sleeping much. Any time Josh woke up in the middle of the night, Drake was always laying there staring at the wall. He couldn't begin to imagine the horrid assaults that his brother had gone through and how it was affecting him.

"I'll give you one of my sleeping pills," Josh said, motioning for Mindy to go get them.

She quickly obliged, disappearing upstairs.

"No, I'm okay."

"It'll really help," he said. "It helps me a lot. I used to have nightmares a lot, too." Josh didn't know that, thanks to Mindy, Drake knew what his nightmares had been about.

"I don't wanna go to sleep," Drake admitted pathetically.

"You need to rest. When's the last time you've slept for more than two hours at a time?" Josh asked. "This isn't healthy."

"I don't like to close my eyes and be back there."

"I'll sit with you while you sleep. And the second you look like you're having a bad dream, I'll wake you."

Mindy returned with the medicine and a glass of water. She handed it to Josh, who opened the childproof cap and poured one onto his palm. He pushed his step-brother off of his shoulder, and the young man hung his head with shame since he'd been crying.

"Here." Josh held out the pill.

Hesitantly, Drake took it from him. He put it onto his tongue and chased it down with water, his face contorting at the familiar feeling of a pill sliding down his throat.

* * *

"Drake?" The voice was kind and gentle. "Drake, wake up?"

"Mmm..." he moaned. He opened his eyes and blinked a couple times until he was used to the dim lighting in the living room. He found that his brother was crouching down in front of him, and there was a pillow and blanket on the recliner nearby. Drake appreciated that Josh had kept his word and hadn't left his side while he'd slept, which brought back that familiar feeling of guilt for sleeping with Mindy again. "What time is it?"

"It's eleven."

Drake pushed himself into a sitting position. "Great. Another one-hour nap." He rubbed his eyes. God, he was still so exhausted.

"It's Sunday."

 _Sunday? Jesus, that's...twenty-five hours? Fucking hell._ Drake didn't know how to react to the news, and Josh could see the confusion in his face as he took in his surroundings.

"Ricardo's here," Josh said. "If you feel up to hanging out."

Drake turned and saw the man standing nearby. "Hey, Ricky."

"Ricardo," the man corrected for the hundredth time. "I haven't heard from you in a while. I thought I'd come by and take you out to eat."

Drake pushed his comforter away, then stretched. "Okay. Do you mind if I jump in the shower first?"

"No, go ahead."

The young man pushed himself to his feet, his legs weak. He trudged up the stairs, so fatigued that he had to use the handrail. He went into his bedroom to grab some clothes, then he climbed up to his loft and peeled back one of the corners of his fitted sheet. He reached under it and retrieved a small bag filled with two boxes worth of Triple C's. He felt like shit. Everything ached from his back to his shoulders to his jaw. He would probably just swallow enough to take the edge off. Ricardo knew him well enough to know the difference between Drake and Charlie. He couldn't let Charlie start talking for him today, which may be easier than normal to hide because his voice was already monotonous from exhaustion.

* * *

"Since it's time for my lunch and your breakfast, I was thinking we could go to this diner on the left up here."

"Uh, can we actually...not go there?" Drake asked uncomfortably when he looked up at the familiar restaurant.

"You don't like the food?"

"I just... I mean, we could go to McDonald's or...or something."

Ricardo started to parallel park in front of the building. "Don't worry about it. You don't have to pay me back." He turned off the ignition, unbuckled his seatbelt, then got out of the car. "Jesus, it's so fucking cold," he said about the February weather.

Drake reluctantly followed suit. He nervously fixed his shirt and combed his fingers through his bangs to make sure that he looked presentable. The last time that he'd been in here was when he was sleeping at the park and coming here for water and tip money.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Ricardo said with his brows furrowed. "You're acting like a middle schooler about to meet his girlfriend's parents for the first time."

"Fuck off," Drake said, shoving the man's hand away when he messed up his hair. He stepped inside of the diner first since Ricardo had opened the door for him, but then he stopped in front of the door and waited for his friend to take the lead and guide him towards a table. Any minute now, his pills should kick in and make him feel a lot less anxious.

Ricardo chose a booth close to the window just a couple booths away from Drake's normal seat. The young man slid into the one facing his old sleeping spot. He was glad Ricardo had taken the other so he didn't have to look up front where all the workers were. Maybe he could hide from them the whole time.

"My name's Julie. I'll be your waitress today. Here are some menus. What can I get you boys to drink?"

Maybe not.

"I'll have a Coke. Drake?"

"A Coke, please." Drake meekly agreed.

When he spoke, she looked at him, and it immediately clicked in her head. She didn't say anything, for she didn't want to embarrass him. She was always the nice one - the one who gave him a styrofoam cup even though they costed a dime.

"Alright, I'll get those drinks, and I'll be right back."

"Thanks," Ricardo said, then he turned to Drake again. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," the young man said, reaching for his menu. To quickly change the subject, he said, "What are you thinking about getting?"

Ricardo then picked up his own menu. "Hmm, I really kinda want the Philly cheesesteak. What about you?"

Drake had only eaten here once before, and he could remember how delectable their chicken fingers had been. Of course, he'd practically been starving to death; anything would've tasted amazing to him, but why get something new that he was unsure of? He hated change anyway.

"I'll probably just get chicken fingers."

"Chicken fingers? What are you, five?"

"Fuck you."

Ricardo cracked a grin as he set his menu down. "So how have you been?"

Drake took in a breath and shrugged his shoulders. "Uh, as good as I can be, I guess." He knew that saying he was fine wouldn't suffice for his friend. "I've been having trouble sleeping a little. I keep getting these...vivid nightmares." Just talking about them brought all the terrifying thoughts back into his mind. "It's kind of embarrassing, but Josh slept in the living room with me and woke me up every time I started to have a nightmare."

"So you two are doing better then?"

"I don't know. I mean, I still feel like shit about it, and I know somewhere deep down inside of him, he's still bitter, but I think his guilt outweighs his hatred."

"Maybe you two should talk it over," the man suggested.

"What good would that do? It would just be a reminder that _'hey, I fucked your girlfriend.'_ " He shrugged, then lowered his eyes again. "I don't really see the point. I think I should just," he took in a breath and stretched his tense shoulders before saying, "let him...work through it on his own time. And figure out if he can forgive me. I mean, shit, if I were Josh, I wouldn't forgive me. That was such a shitty thing to do."

"You were high. Mistakes were made."

"Yeah, it sounds really good and that's what you try to tell yourself at night, but..."

"Here are your drinks." Julie set them down, then grabbed a pen and pad out of her pocket. "Now are you two ready to order?"

The guys gave her their food orders, then handed her the menus. Drake could feel his nausea becoming much more overwhelming than it had been.

Ricardo wasn't done with their conversation. "But what?"

"I mean, I knew. I knew the entire time that it would happen. And I continued to push for it. I continued to plant those seeds and...I don't know. I never tried to stop it. It's something that I intentionally did and put the work in to do. And yeah, I was on drugs the entire time, but I still could've said no. I've said no to plenty of things while high that I haven't wanted to do. After we started hanging out, I really fell for her, and..." He shrugged, still averting his eyes. "I was just so lonely, and it was nice to finally have someone to share Charlie with again, but then she started using without me, and things got all fucked up."

Even though Drake kept his head low, Ricardo could see the guilt he carried around.

"Josh was gonna propose to her. They were gonna get married and become...doctors or some shit. They were gonna have that happily ever after ending. But now, Josh is with a recovering addict, and when she's not around, he's wondering if she's cheating on him, and he's working extra hours to save up money for a baby that's not even his. He's still struggling to get over everything, so he can't marry her. I got my brother's girlfriend pregnant and I'm too shitty to take care of it, so he's gotta put off college. Everything he's ever worked for in his life - I've just fucking ruined. And what's worse is that he feels like he can't even be pissed at me about it because of what my dad did to me."

"I still think that it would be a good idea to talk to him...if you want my advice," Ricardo said. "To make sure he knows that you even care to earn back his trust."

Drake wasn't fully sold on the idea, but he wasn't totally against it either. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm always right."

Drake rolled his eyes and turned his head away, and when he did so, he saw a familiar face: Coach Tad. The man was staring right back at him, and when he finally caught Drake's eye, he flashed a grin and waved. _Oh, God, I think I'm gonna be sick._

"I'll be right back."

Ricardo furrowed his eyes with confusion as Drake abruptly slid out of the booth and made his way to the bathroom.

Drake hardly made it to one of the stalls before vomit spewed from his lips. Thankfully, he was alone. Now that he was in a somewhat stable living environment and was actually getting the food that he needed on a daily basis, his vomit wasn't just a clear saliva and half-digested pills. Actual food came up with the reddish tint - not much because he's slept over a full day.

When he was done puking, he clutched his clammy forehead and closed his eyes to stop his world from spinning. Oh, God, it felt so fucking nice. When he opened his eyes again, they were watered over, and his vision was slightly blurry. He sniffled up the snot that had started dripping during his hurling, then took in a breath and tried to compose himself. _Don't be suspicious._

Drake opened the stall door, and once he did so, he jumped, for Coach Tad was right in front of him. The man pushed his way into the stall, cornering the boy so that he couldn't escape.

"Hey, baby. Did you miss me?"

Drake fell onto the toilet seat. He was right at crotch level. Tad was unbuckling his belt.

"Why don't you give me a quick bj, huh? I've got ten bucks with your name written on it."

"Fuck off!" Drake said, forcefully sliding the man to the side so that he could push his way past him.

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that, sweetie."

"That was a one-time thing." Drake moved over to the sink to wash off the bit of vomit that had gotten onto his palm when he'd held his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from throwing up all over the floor. "It's not gonna happen again."

"I've been thinking an awful lot about you. You haven't called."

"And I'm not gonna." Drake felt the man's hand slip into his back pocket. He quickly spun around.

"I was just giving you my phone number. In case you lost it the first time."

"I don't need your fucking number. Just leave me the fuck alone."

The coach didn't seem to be intimidated by him at all. "You're so cute when you're angry." He squinted his nose, then reached out and booped Drake's nose.

The young man shoved his hand away, then started to push past him, but he was suddenly grabbed and violently shoved up against the wall. Tad rested his forearm against the wall to trap him there, then he petted Drake's hair.

"Come on. Don't be like that."

"Piss off!"

He could tell that Drake was becoming fearful as he tried to push his arms away. "I'm not your father. I'm not gonna force myself onto you like he does. I just think that you should really reconsider. I can make it worth your while. And guess what. I've got a _big_ surprise for you."

Drake felt the man push the bulge in his pants against him. He finally mustered enough strength then to shove Coach Tad away. "And guess what. My dad's dead. I killed him for going too far with me. And I will do the same to you." He stormed past him, and when he was at a seemingly safe distance away, he turned back to him and said, "Don't you _ever_ fucking touch me again."

As Drake started to leave, the man said, "Whatever, you little bitch. Your junkie ass will be crawling back to me in no time BEGGING to suck my dick for spare change."

Drake gave him the finger on his way out the door, then he went back to his seat in a huff.

Ricardo still looked confused. "You alright?"

"Oh. Yeah. Just..." He didn't really have anything to say, but thankfully, Julie showed up and saved his life.

"Alright, here you go. And watch the plate. It's hot."

"Thanks," Ricardo said.

"Can I get you boys anything else?"

After a quick glance at Drake, the man kindly declined.

"Well, let me know if you need anything," Julie said before disappearing.

Ricardo watched as his friend picked up one of the chicken fingers and bit down on it. Drake had exited the bathroom, and in the five seconds that he had been sitting across from him, the boy already seemed like a completely different person. Ricardo sighed sadly.

"So you're using again."

Drake set his chicken finger back onto the plate, then brushed off his hands. He, too, sighed. He could lie, but what was the use? He kept his eyes low as he rested his forearms against the tabletop. "Yeah," he practically whispered. He could feel the disappointment radiating off of the man. He hated his silence. "Look, I'm really sor-"

"Don't be. It's fine." Ricardo picked up a fry.

"You're pissed."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not pissed," he said, but he didn't say more.

"It's not...I just...everything's so fucked up at home and-"

"I don't need your excuses," Ricardo said as he picked up his sandwich. "It's whatever."

Drake's face fell, and he was actually saddened that his friend was so outwardly disappointed in him. He wished that he could think of something to say as a response, but nothing seemed right. They spent the rest of their brunch in silence, and Drake felt ashamed because Ricardo wouldn't even look him in the eyes. The only person who constantly reminded him that there was still good left inside of him no longer believed in him anymore, and that was devastating.

* * *

When the car stopped in front of his house, Drake unbuckled his seatbelt, then looked over at the driver. "Well, thanks," he said softly, "for buying my meal."

The man didn't respond. Yeah, he was definitely pissed. Drake didn't blame him. He had a clean slate and a bunch of support, and he didn't have to deal with his father's bullshit anymore, yet here he was, fucking up the fresh start that he'd been given.

Drake sighed, then opened the door and got out of the car. He watched as the man pulled away, then he stepped up onto the sidewalk and crossed his yard. The boy pushed open the front door and took a couple steps inside, and once he did so, his jaw dropped. The entire house was completely destroyed. Furniture was flipped. Glass was shattered. Chairs were broken. Audrey and Megan were crying. Mindy was comforting Megan on the couch while Josh and Walter surveyed the damage.

"What the fu...?" Drake managed to filter himself. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Walter said when he noticed his presence. The man stepped over a lamp, glass crunching under his shoes, then he pointed to the wall.

Drake turned and read the words that were written in spray paint. _Come see me, Drake._ "Oooh, shiiit..."

" _'Oh, shit'_ is right!" Walter was yelling. "Look at this fucking mess! Everything is destroyed! Every room is completely torn apart!"

"I'm _so_ sorry." Drake's facial expressions proved that he was being genuine, but Walter didn't care.

"Oh, okay, great! Thanks! That'll help!"

Drake shook his head as his eyes moved around the room, but when he heard his step-father's furious voice again, he met his eyes.

"Megan was home alone when they broke in! She hid under her bed while they trashed her room! Can you imagine how terrified she was?! And what if they would've found her?!"

"I'm _so_ sorry," he repeated, then he looked at his sister. "Megs, I'm so, so sorry."

"You have brought nothing but trouble and pain to this family!"

Drake shook his head as he pleaded. "I'm sor-"

"All we do is try to help you, and you just take and take and take! Look at Josh! Look at your _mother_! Megan could've been _killed_! How much is enough with you?!"

Drake couldn't feel this Triple C's much anymore, but he wished that he did. He got a sick feeling in his gut when he thought about what Marcellas' crew would've done had they have found his younger sister. If she would've let out a fearful whimper, he could've just walked into the house sisterless. Why does everyone around him get hurt?

"HUH?!"

Drake flinched, for Walter was acting an awful lot like Martin.

"Answer me! I really wanna know!"

The boy was speechless. Again, he shook his head.

"When will it end, Drake?! All this suffering you've put us through?! We don't deserve it! We're tired! We're sick of all this chaos you carry with you!"

Drake was growing fearful of the man, so he started to move past him and go over to his mother, but Walter placed his hand on his shoulder and pushed him back.

"No. You're leaving."

Drake's heart fell at those words. "What?"

"You heard me. Get the hell out."

"Walter-" Drake tried desperately.

"You're mother and I have already discussed this. Go," the man said with his teeth clenched. "And don't ever come back here."

"I didn't mean-"

"Get out."

"I'm so-"

"Get out! I SAID GET THE HELL OUT!" And then Walter grabbed him and started dragging him towards the door.

"Don't! DON'T! Please, don't do this! Please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please! Mom! Don't let him do this! MOOOM!"

 _Slam!_

* * *

 **Author's Note: Sorry this one took forever. I've been too lazy to edit. I'm getting closer and closer to the ending, so it'll be here before you know it. Reviews are much appreciated. Love you guys.**


	17. The Roommate

_(1 month later)_

 _Itissocolditissocolditissocolditissocolditissocolditissocolditissocolditissocold!_ It was so fucking cold, and what made it worse was the wind hitting him. It felt like it was peeling away at his skin and freezing him from the inside out. Drake pulled the jacket around himself tighter as he shivered. _Almost there. Almost there._ His nose and fingers were numb, and he'd dropped the Walmart bag in his hands a couple times already. Usually, Charlie numbed him from feeling cold temperature too severely, but it must be at an all-time low because Charlie wasn't doing shit for him.

Drake was relieved when he saw the familiar house. He crossed the yard, then pushed open the front door quickly. He closed his eyes briefly as the warmth hit him. God, it felt amazing. Drake made his way over to the kitchen and opened the drawer. For whatever reason, that's where the scissors were kept. He turned over the plastic bag, and three boxes of cough medicine landed on top of the counter.

"You could've waited until I woke up. I would've taken you to the store," Coach Tad said after rounding a corner and noticing him in the kitchen.

Drake had been too impatient to wait. "It's okay. I was in the mood for a walk."

The man shrugged it off and went on to another subject. "Your rent's due."

Drake wanted to roll his eyes, but to be polite, he hid his irritation.

"You got the money?"

Of course he didn't have the money, and Tad knew it because when did he ever have the money? The man was pleased. He then started to unbuckle his belt. Drake moved over to him, then got onto his knees as Tad pulled out his penis. Drake opened his mouth and engulfed the appendage between his chapped lips after mustering up all the saliva that he possibly could.

This hadn't been Drake's first choice when he'd been kicked out of his parents' house. He'd stayed with Kenzly for a couple days until he and Jeff got into an actual physical fight. He was pretty much banned from ever going back there. His options were limited. Walter's hurtful words had cut through him like a knife, which had led to Drake falling off the wagon once again. He was back to using daily, so he knew that Ricardo's place was out of the question. Still, he never thought he'd end up here. He'd went back to living on the streets, and from there, his drug use had really spiraled out of control again. It was freezing, and he'd been so stressed. Charlie was the only one who was ever really there for him. After a little over a week, he ran out of cash and broke down and finally called his former coach. Thank God he still had his number in his back pocket. The man had picked him up, and at first, he was very kind and helpful, but once he started to realize that Drake didn't plan on leaving anytime soon, he sat him down and went over some stipulations - one being rent. At the end of each week, Drake had to perform a...sexual favor for the man. Of course, the boy had refused, and he'd stormed out in a disgusted huff. He'd gone to his usual place: the park, and there, he did a lot of thinking. He'd weighed out his pros and cons, and of course, the promise of Charlie outweighed all of the negative things. After less than a day, Drake had returned to the coach's house and agreed to the ground rules. Because he saw that the boy was desperate enough and because he was a prick, he trapped Drake with the promise of drug money if he'd, in turn, get him off anytime he asked. Once again, the promise of Charlie took over his initial disgust, and he agreed to these terms. It wasn't so bad. Charlie kept him numb, and it wasn't anything that he hadn't done before. It was like being back at his father's minus the punching and kicking, and honestly, after all the change that Drake had endured in the last couple months, it was comforting to have some sort of familiarity.

When Tad came, Drake swallowed like the man liked for him to do. Tad loved the control. He was like a young Martin in the making. As if it was no big deal, Drake stood, then went back over to the counter to cut open the packages.

"I put some coffee on for you before I left this morning," Drake said, pointing behind himself at the coffee maker without looking up from his pills.

"Thanks." Tad went around the counter to enter the kitchen and opened a cabinet. He pulled out a blue travel mug, then picked up the pot and poured some coffee inside. He spoke, his voice now filled with irritation. "I've got a meeting today after school, so I'll be home late."

"Okay."

Tad turned and leaned against the counter, taking a small sip of the hot coffee. He admired the presence before him. Drake's back was turned to him as he diligently worked on his packages. Never in a million years would the coach have predicted that things would've come to this. His favorite student was living at his house, practically doing whatever he asked. Things had really turned out in his favor. He'd tried the whole "gay" thing, and maybe it was the way he was raised or the feelings of being less than a man, but it hadn't worked out for him. When he'd found someone years ago, it had been so strange and he'd been too embarrassed to go anywhere public with the man, so that didn't last long. Drake didn't make him feel like less of a man. In fact, the control he had over the boy made him feel more manly than he ever had in his entire life. The good things about Drake was that he never wanted to leave the house unless for Charlie, he preferred to keep their agreement hidden, he was young, and he was highly, highly, _highly_ attractive. Tad's gaze moved to the boy's ass with that thought. One day, he'll be in it, and he'll have Drake wholly and completely. He'd just have to find the right way to talk him into it, and if he'd managed to talk his way this far, he knew that he could do it.

Tad pushed himself away from the counter and wrapped an arm around Drake for a half-hug. He leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll see ya when I get home. Bye."

Drake kept his head down as the man went around the counter, grabbed his bag, then walked out the front door. The boy set his scissors down, then scooped up a group of pills and tossed them onto his tongue, ready to forget all about his shameful and disgusting existence.

 ***FLASHBACK***

There was blood everywhere. If Drake didn't know better, he would think that he was back at his father's on New Year's Day - the day Martin had tried to kill him. However, these wounds were his own doing. As the blood dripped from his wrists, he rested his back against the inside of the tub. At least he was being considerate. Tad wouldn't have much of a mess to clean up. However, he knew from Josh that walking in to find someone dead from suicide could scar a person for life. He just couldn't get himself to do it at the park. Offing himself in his and Meelah's old spot would be too dramatic and angsty. Plus, he couldn't stop worrying that a kid would find his body, and that's the last thing he wanted, especially with the knowledge that even a young man such as Josh was forced to put up with nightmares and a hefty counseling bill.

He knew that he swore he'd never do this again, but what did it matter anymore? His family had shunned him. They'd probably never even find out. They wanted nothing to do with him, and frankly, Drake didn't blame them. He'd debated for a while. He did. He wanted to at least keep one promise that he'd made them. His life was complete shit, though. He told himself that maybe suffering through it would eventually cancel out all of the bad things that he had done, so he put up with Tad's grabby hands and ludicrous fantasies of some sort of two-sided relationship. Over time, things started piling up and up, and it got to the point where he couldn't suppress it anymore. He was a killer. His father was dead because of him. Meelah was dead because of him. Audrey and Megan had almost followed close behind. How much sexual abuse did he have to endure to cancel out two accounts of murder? When would he finally be free?

Drake remembered how upset his parents had been that he hadn't left behind a note during his first attempt. _"You were just gonna leave without an explanation?!"_ Walter had yelled. The young man didn't know that it was such a big deal. What was he supposed to say? And if he did write what he'd felt, how could they live with the guilt? It didn't make sense to Drake, but he'd learned from it, and this time, he left a note. It wasn't much. Really, it was just him begging Tad not to tell his family that he was dead. What they didn't know couldn't hurt them, right?

"Drake?"

Speaking of Tad... It was already time for him to be back from work? This was taking longer than he'd thought.

"You in there?"

The boy could hear the sound of the knob turning. Thankfully, he'd locked it. How much longer was this going to take. He needed to hurry the process along before he added another failed suicide attempt to his record.

"Drake?" _Knock. Knock. Knock._

The young man clutched the razor, then held it against his skin and pressed down. "Ah!" he hissed involuntarily, his face contorting at the pain.

"Drake! What's going on in there?!"

Drake had tears in his eyes. His teeth were clenched, and his cheeks filled with air each time he exhaled.

"Open the door." _Knock! Knock!_ "Open the goddamn door or I'll kick it open myself!"

Drake's plan would be ruined if that were to happen, so he finally spoke. "Go away."

"Drake, don't do anything crazy."

"Please, just leave," the boy begged, and seconds later, he heard a loud noise at the door.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang! Crash!_

He looked up and saw Tad, who's brows furrowed with hurt when he saw him.

"Jesus Christ!" The man grabbed a towel from the rack. "What have you done?!" He tossed the towel to Drake, then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the police. When there was an answer on the other end, he quickly told them what the situation was and what his address was, then he hung up.

Drake had dropped the towel, for he didn't plan on stopping the blood. He was making another cut on his arm in hopes that it would speed the process up before the ambulance arrived.

"What the hell?! Give me the razor!" He grabbed the boy's wrist. "Give it to me!" He peeled Drake's fingers away and finally got it out of his hands, nicking his skin slightly as he did so.

"Stop," Drake whined with tears streaming down his cheeks as he reached for the sharp weapon. "Just let me do it."

There was blood all over the place, so to better see where exactly the cuts were, Coach Tad turned on the shower. Water poured all over the boy, and he screamed when it hit his open cuts, stinging his skin. Tad grabbed the towel and pressed down on Drake's wounds.

"Don't! Go away!" Drake cried. He fought as much as he could, which made it hard to put pressure on the cuts.

To get a better hold of the boy, Tad got into the tub behind him, wrapping his legs around him to keep him still. He held the towel on his wrists, and since he had such a good grip, Drake couldn't move them at all. He tried to wiggle his way out, but he couldn't escape.

"Let me go!" he cried, practically laying on top of the man now after his attempt at getting away. "Let me fucking go-o-o!" He gave up and broke down into sobs. "I just wanna die!"

Tad's heart broke as he listened to the boy bawling his eyes out and begging to be left alone. He pushed himself up and positioned themselves so that the boy was no longer laying against him. He wrapped his arms around him, forcing Drake to hug himself since he had to keep pressure on his wrists. He leaned in and kissed the back of the crying boy's head. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay."

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Drake's eyes shot open when he heard a loud noise. He looked at the coffee table in front of him and saw that a bag had been dropped there. He then felt his leg being tapped, signaling for him to move them.

"I brought dinner."

He pushed himself up and put his feet on the floor. Tad sat down next to him, then reached into the bag and retrieved two burgers and a small fry. He placed them on the table in front of Drake.

The boy rubbed his tired eyes. "Thanks. How was the meeting?" He didn't really care, but Tad would appreciate his interest, and he was willing to give him that in return for food, shelter, and an endless supply of drugs.

"Long. Boring. Absolutely pointless."

"Shit."

"How long have you been asleep?"

"I don't know. Maybe an hour." Drake picked up a couple fries and put them into his mouth.

"You cleaned up in here?"

Drake didn't have much to do during his Charlie trips, so he spent a lot of time exploring and tidying up. It's not as boring when you're high, and it felt nice to keep hold of the piece of him that was still a decent human being and not a drug fiend making a mess all over the place. He nodded his head and picked up a burger.

"It looks good."

Drake's nostrils flared when the man rubbed his knee as a way of saying good job, but he let it happen. He also allowed Tad to lean him back against the couch and wrap his arm around him.

"What were you watching?" the man asked.

" _SpongeBob_."

Coach Tad reached for the remote control and turned up the volume a bit. Drake felt Tad pull him closer. God, if his father could see him now, he'd probably laugh his ass off. _Fucking karma, I guess._ He would absolutely die if anyone were to see him this way. He would love nothing more than to tell the coach to go fuck himself and flip him the bird and walk right out of here, but he didn't have anywhere else to go, and he couldn't think of anywhere else that he would have such a promising supply of Triple C's. The cold weather was beginning to ease up a tiny bit, but did that mean that he had to leave and chance the streets again? Stealing tip money wasn't the best way to make a living, and he could only do it for so long before he got caught. Jail didn't sound so bad. He'd probably have to deal with the same kind of men in there, so the only difference would be harder access to Charlie and a bedtime.

"You alright?" Tad asked. "You haven't eaten your food."

"I'm fine." Drake unwrapped his burger, his stomach churning as Tad caressed his cheek with the knuckles on his middle and pointer fingers, then petted his hair.

* * *

Drake stared at the ceiling with an expressionless face. The coach was asleep next to him, snoring up a storm. He hated sleeping in the same bed with him, but if Tad woke up and found him on the couch, he'd get all pissy, and although Drake knew that he was harmless, he was actually pretty terrified of the man. Once, Drake had scooted over on the couch to pull his legs under himself for better comfort, and Tad had absolutely exploded. The man had a temper, and he had left Drake so stunned that his fingers were shaking.

Tad stopped snoring and turned over on his right side, then threw his arm across Drake's stomach. The boy didn't react. This was nothing. Just a couple weeks ago, he had woken up in the middle of the night to find the man jerking off over him. Literally right on top of him. He'd kept his eyes closed and pretending to be asleep during it so that he wouldn't be asked to do anything. He'd felt so disgusted, but he couldn't say anything because he couldn't risk being kicked out.

Because the man was so close to him, he could feel his lower region start to press against him. Maybe now was a good time for a Charlie run. Just as he started to carefully push himself up, Tad - now awake but with his eyes still closed - grabbed Drake's hand and pulled it underneath the comforter, guiding it to his erect penis.

* * *

Drake's eyes opened wide when the alarm clock rang obnoxiously. He was always quick to wake up to even the quietest disturbances. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism he'd acquired while staying at his dad's. He knew to book it when he heard Martin stomping down the hallway in the middle of the night.

"Goddamnit." Tad turned off the alarm, then pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched, his muscles popping out of his arms and bare chest. He turned and saw that his boy toy was also awake, so he leaned over and gave him a kiss on the lips. "Good morning."

Drake groaned tiredly. He flipped over, turning his back to him, then he clutched his pillow and closed his eyes again. Tad thought it was cute when he was grumpy. It wasn't often that Drake expressed any sort of emotion. The pills he took dulled them. For once, he would appreciate if the young man would open up to him about his feelings and let him in, but Drake was a closed book.

"You awake?"

"Mmm," the boy groaned again.

Tad knew that for Drake to do any sexual favors this early in the morning, he would have to put out, too. He grabbed his wallet off of the nightstand, pulled out a ten, then reached over Drake and set it on the other nightstand. The young man sat up, his eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep he had gotten. He didn't care. He was never too tired for a Charlie run. He picked up the money and slipped it into the pocket of his sweatpants. He then heard the sound of a belt unbuckling. Like a trained dog, he got onto his knees and leaned over the man's crotch.

* * *

Tad took a sip of his water, then set it down and leaned back against the couch. He rested his feet on top of the coffee table and repositioned the laptop that was on his legs.

"Gluuuuhhhggg!"

He could hear Drake throwing up in the bathroom, but this was nothing new to him, so he ignored it. Pretty soon, the boy stepped out of the bathroom. He'd just went on his second drug run of the day not too long ago.

"Come watch this with me," Tad said without looking up from the screen.

Drake crossed the room and sat down next to him. Right when he looked at the laptop, he saw a gruesome torture video involving a nail gun. "Jesus, why the fuck would you show me this?!" The boy turned away, but he could still hear the gun firing and intense screaming.

"It's one of those things that I know I shouldn't click on, but I do it anyway and can't stop watching no matter how much I want to."

"You're fucking insane!" Drake said, the horrifying sounds piercing his ears. "Turn it off!" When the man complied, Drake looked at him, his expression serious. "That's some really fucked up shit," he scolded. "Like, _reall_ y fucked up."

"It doesn't turn you on even a little bit?"

"No!"

"I'm sure I can find something for you," he said facetiously. "What's your fetish? Torture? Gore? Rape? Adults or kids? This site has all your twisted desires at the click of a button."

"Fuck you."

"I'm kidding," Tad said. "But I did find something on the dark web that you actually might be interested in." He clicked on a tab that he had left open. "That cough medicine you love so much - you can buy it in bulk. So you don't have to keep running to the store five times a day."

Drake tilted the laptop so that he could get a better view of the screen.

"It's not, you know, the same Walmart brand, of course. But it's pretty much the same thing."

"I mean, but I don't think it's safe to buy pills from some sketchy person online."

"I've bought things from here before. Not drugs or anything, but I'm sure it's fine. I feel like there's this negative stigma you have about the dark web, and it's not like that."

Drake furrowed his brows. "Didn't you pretty much just tell me that you could find child pornography in, like, two seconds flat?"

"Oh, yeah. Tons. Not that I've actually looked at it."

"Right."

"I haven't," he said.

Drake nodded. "Mm-hm. Sure."

"Okay, I clicked on this one once and I didn't stay long. There was a video. It was really fucked up." The man looked like he was reliving some tragic event in his mind.

"Jesus Christ, I really think you should stop using those sites altogether."

"Come on. It's not all bad. How else would I have found this?"

"I don't think I wanna fuck with anything from the dark web."

"I think you've seen too many movies."

"Maybe. But I don't need that many pills anyway. I mean, I know I use a lot sometimes-"

"Sometimes?" Tad raised his eyebrows and smirked as if Drake had said something comical.

"I just don't wanna get to the point that that's necessary. That's a lot of pills, and once I start using that much, I won't stop. I don't mind walking to Walmart everyday and getting three boxes at a time."

"I just thought I'd bring it up and get your thoughts." The coach turned the laptop back to himself again.

Drake waited for him to close the computer, but he didn't. "You're still looking at shit?"

"Well, I was looking for this pirated movie-"

"But you somehow got to drug and torture sites?"

"I mean, it happens."

Drake shook his head. "Whatever." He stood, feeling his drugs kicking in now that he had to balance on his feet. "I'm gonna head out for a bit."

"Where are you going?"

"Just for a walk. To stretch my legs." Drake grabbed his shoes, then started to slide one onto his foot.

"You just walked all the way to Walmart and back," Tad said. It was obvious that he didn't want the boy to leave.

"I just don't wanna waste my high sitting around here doing nothing. I'll probably fall asleep."

"I'll entertain you."

"I'm just gonna get some fresh air, and I can go ahead and grab a few more boxes for tomorrow. That way, you'll be off work, and I won't have to go anywhere, so we can hang out in the morning."

"But I actually have to go grocery shopping tomorrow, so you can just get tomorrow's drugs when I do that."

Drake felt like he was being smothered. He could never get away from this guy. To quieten the man, he leaned forwards and gave him a quick kiss. Charlie had pushed him to do it, and since he was high, he didn't feel all that disgusted with himself for it. "I won't be long, okay? And when I get back, we can do whatever you want."

Tad sighed. He wasn't happy, but he didn't argue any further.

Drake opened the door and stepped outside, then began his long walk. It felt nice to get away for a while. Tad was always hovering over him when he was home, and even having to deal with him for more than ten minutes was unbearable. His former physical education teacher saw him almost like a boyfriend. Maybe it wasn't just his delirium. Maybe Drake fed into it a bit to get what he wanted. Okay, he definitely fed into it to get what he wanted.

He did feel completely repulsive inside for willingly going along with this whole thing, but Charlie kept him numb to that for the most part. It wasn't as hard as one would think actually. For years now, he had put up with sexual abuse from his father, and now that he was gone, Coach Tad was almost like a replacement...a pathetic, sensitive, teddy bear replacement. This didn't mean that it was any easier to deal with and that he didn't feel dirty afterwards. He just knew what to expect now, knew how to use it for his advantage, and it wasn't like the man's penis was going up his ass or anything.

He was just doing what he had to do to get by. His family had told him to fuck off, and he'd had no other choices left - not if he wanted his drugs. If this is what he had to degrade himself to, then so be it. Who needs dignity anyway when you have Charlie?

* * *

Drake pulled up his jeans and buttoned them, his breathing heavy and his skin coated with sweat. He looked up and saw a nude Molly on the bed. She was gazing at him with a frown. She tossed him his shirt.

"Come over earlier next time. I don't like to rush through it."

They _were_ cutting it pretty close. Richard would be home within the hour.

"I thought you liked living on the edge," Drake said with a smirk as he pulled his tee over his head.

Molly smiled. While the young man put on his shoes, she stood and grabbed her robe, then tied it so that it didn't show her private parts. She went over to her purse and took out five one hundred dollar bills, then she passed them along. "I'll walk you out."

Drake folded the cash and slipped it into his back pocket. He opened the bedroom door, and what - or more correctly, _who_ \- he saw next gave him a mini heart attack.

" _This_ is where you go every Friday?!"

Drake was humiliated - not because he'd been caught sleeping with a married woman, but because Molly was about to witness an awkward confrontation between himself and his former teacher. "You followed me?!" he said angrily.

"Yeah, and it's a good thing I did, too! You lying son of a bitch!"

"Drake?" Molly said, frightened by the furious stranger that was in her house. "Who is this?"

"Yeah, Drake," Tad said, looking at the boy. "Who am I to you?"

"Please, don't do this now. Let's just go, okay?" he begged.

Tad noticed the strap-on next to the bed. "You won't let me do anal on you, but you're willing to sneak off and let some woman shove a fake penis up your ass every week?!"

Drake's face was red hot. "It's not like that."

"Are you two...partners?" Molly asked, trying to piece together the situation before her.

The two men answered at the same time.

Tad: "Yes."

Drake: "No."

After seeing how pissed his denial had made the coach, Drake tried to revise his answer. "I mean, we-"

"Forget it!" Tad exclaimed. "You can have him!" he said to Molly. He turned and left the room. "Cheating whore! Don't even bother coming home!"

Drake badly wanted to sit down with Molly and tell her that he wasn't dating this man, but that wasn't important right now. He had the money. He had what he needed from her. Now he just needed to secure his living situation, so he bolted down the hallway and chased Tad down the staircase. "Look, just let me explain, okay?!"

He reached out and grabbed the man's shoulder to stop him, but Tad whipped around, brought his hand up, and smacked Drake's cheek.

"Ah!" The boy's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped open with surprise. He clutched his stinging skin gently, his expression showing just how shocked he was. This was the first time that he had been hit by a male since the day his father had tried to kill him, and it really put things into perspective and made him remember who he was. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

If Tad wasn't so angry, he would've been taken aback by the sudden change he saw in Drake. In seconds, he had gone from being an independent asshole man to a submissively apologetic asshole child. Fear had flashed across Drake's eyes. It hadn't lasted long, but Tad had caught a glimpse of it. However, he was too pissed to be compassionate.

"Stay the fuck away from me," the man said. "I never wanna see you again."

"Please, I have nowhere else to go."

Coach Tad noticed the pictures of Molly and Richard that were hanging on the wall. "You can stay here with that fucking whore upstairs for all I give a shit. You two deserve each other." And with that, he turned and stormed out the front door.

"Come on, Tad." Drake still followed him like a lost puppy. "Let me just explain."

"Fuck you, you fucking slut." The man got inside of his truck and slammed the door closed.

Drake tried apologizing again, but he was being ignored. He backed up when the vehicle started moving and ran his fingers through his hair, stressed that he had yet another thing to add to his always overflowing plate. "FUCK!" he yelled with frustration at the top of his lungs.

* * *

Rashaad looked at his watch. "You were cutting it close tonight."

Drake passed the money to Jackie, who started counting. When the man finish, he squinted his eyes and started over.

Drake nervously spoke up. "I'm...a little short."

"Short?" Marcellas furrowed his brows.

"Just a little bit. Just twenty dollars." He gulped when he saw that they didn't care how small of an amount he was missing. "I'll get it, though. I swear I'll get it."

"I like you, Drake, which is why I really hate that I have to do this."

Drake tensed up when he saw the leader nod at his crew. The boy took a step back when they moved closer, but he was grabbed from behind and held into place. "Please, don't."

Rashaad's fist smashed against his face, knocking him to the ground. Drake clutched his nose as he groaned. He could already feel blood gushing from both nostrils. Marcellas stood after pushing the woman on his lap away, then stomped his foot down onto the boy's throat. Drake looked up at him fearfully, unable to breathe.

"This is your last warning. I can't keep letting you slide by. I want my fucking money." Marcellas leaned over so that he was closer, which put more weight on the boy's neck. "You get it to me on time each week - I'll let you live."

"Gkkk!" Drake tried pushing on the bottom of his shoe so that he could get some air.

"No more fuck-ups. You hear me? I will not tolerate it any longer. The next one will be your last. I _will_ kill you." He saw that Drake believed him and that he had renewed the boy's fear in him. "Until you finish paying me off, you're my bitch. You do what I say when I say it. Do you understand me?"

Drake was running out of air fast. He was willing to agree to anything just to be able to breathe again. He rapidly nodded his chin, and thankfully, the man lifted his foot. However, he didn't move it far. In fact, it was now right in front of Drake's face.

"Lick it," Marcellas demanded, and his crew laughed.

Drake looked at it with disgust. He felt humiliated, and he wondered what his mother would think of him if she saw him like this.

"Ah!" the boy exclaimed when the shoe smashed against his face, urging him to hurry. His jaw throbbed where he had been kicked, and fearing that he would receive another hard blow if he didn't comply, he stuck out his tongue and moved it along the bottom of the man's shoe.

The room exploded then. Everyone was laughing at him and letting go of their exclamations of disgust.

"Again," Marcellas ordered.

Drake did it, his cheeks pink.

"Again. The whole thing. I want it clean from heel to toe."

Drake closed his eyes to avoid meeting their ecstatic stares. He felt so weak and ashamed. He couldn't even remember a time that his father had made him feel this isolated. Of course, the sexual abuse was way worse than this, but it had been behind closed doors. Here, it was like several people had caught him with his pants down and were all laughing at his penis size. No, it was worse than that. Much, much worse.

"I'm pretty sure I stepped in dog shit yesterday," Marcellas said to his friends as he wore a giant grin.

Drake's face contorted and he turned his head away, spitting and coughing the retched taste out of his mouth.

"Hey! Did I fucking tell you to stop?!"

Marcellas waved his foot in front of his face. Drake tried to escape it by turning his head as he continued to cough and gag, but the man pressed it against his cheek.

"I think he's crying," Jackie teased.

He wasn't, but he was damn near close.

Marcellas lifted his foot and held it directly above the boy's head again. "Fucking finish it, bitch!"

Drake hesitated at first, but he did as he was told. He took long strokes, trying his best to ignore the taste and tell himself that the bits of crust he came across were dried mud. He even lifted himself higher and held himself up with his elbows to get at it better. Everyone teased him because of it, saying that he seemed to be enjoying it a little too much, but he just wanted to finish as quickly as he could. When Marcellas finally pulled his shoe away, Drake felt relief fill his body. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Give him your other shoe," Rashaad said.

"No, I'll save that one for next week's snack." Marcellas met the boy's eyes. "What are you?"

Drake swallowed his pride, then opened his mouth to speak. "I'm your bitch," he whispered.

"Louder. I don't think everyone heard you."

Drake obeyed. "I'm your bitch."

"Good boy!" Marcellas said in a high-pitched voice as if he were talking to a dog. He patted the young man's cheek. Marcellas straightened, then stepped away from Drake. He wrapped his arm around his prostitute's waist and started towards the bedroom. "Finish him, then take him out the back."

Within seconds, Drake found himself drowning in a frenzy of painful kicks. He received multiple blows at once and didn't have time to recover before several more came. He curled himself up into the fetal position and protected his head with his arms, screaming out with each rough kick.

* * *

Drake's body shook violently. It wasn't clear how much was caused by the freezing cold and how much was caused by his sobbing. He was so humiliated that he never wanted to see those men again, but he knew that they were unavoidable.

Today was officially one of the worst days that he'd had in a while. First, Tad caught him at Molly's, then Marcellas degraded him in front of all those tough men he surrounded himself with, and now he was back to being homeless and sleeping at the park in the freezing cold. The worst part about it was that, at the end of the day, Drake didn't have Charlie with him to assure him that he could get through it alright. He was utterly and completely alone.

He had his legs pulled up to his chest. He slipped his arms inside the sleeves of his shirt to shield them from the wind, then he buried his face between his knees.

 ***FLASHBACK***

"Hello?"

"Walter?" Drake's voice cracked.

"Drake? Who's phone are you calling from?"

"I'm at a payphone."

"Well, what do you want?"

Drake felt a lump rise up in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but he couldn't. His lips trembled, and he knew that he would completely lose it if he opened his mouth.

"Drake?"

He had to say something or else his step-father would hang up. He closed his eyes with embarrassment, knowing that he wouldn't be able to hide the fact that he was crying. "Can I come home?" Jesus, that sounded a lot more pathetic than he'd expected.

"Are you clean?"

"Yes." The way he said it made it obvious that he was lying.

"I'm sorry, Drake. You're not welcome back here."

The boy let go of a strangled sob, then sniffled. "Where's Mom?"

"She's upstairs."

"Can I talk to her?"

"She's asleep. She had a hard day at her physical therapy." He loved to bring that up to remind Drake that it was his own fault that he'd been kicked out.

"Please, let me talk to her."

His mother was kind and compassionate and caring, and if she listened to his voice and heard how broken he was, she would tell him to come home immediately and she'd wrap him in a blanket and give him hot chocolate and hug him and tell him that everything would be okay, and he might just believe it.

"I'm not going to wake her." Walter was firm in his response.

Drake leaned against the payphone weakly. His elbow was on the metal, and he rested his forehead in his palm. "I'm so sorry for everything I've done to hurt you guys. I swear I'll be good. I'll be so good."

"Drake-"

"You won't even know I'm there. Just give me a place to sleep. I'll stay in the garage. I'll come after everyone's asleep and be gone before anyone wakes up. Please, it's so cold, Walter." His voice cracked.

"Drake..." The man sighed. "You've made your choice. I've tried. I've tried so many times with you."

"I know. I know you have. Please, don't give up on me. You're the only dad I've ever had."

"I never gave up on you. You gave up on yourself." Walter continued with another point since Drake couldn't stop crying. "You never stopped using. You lied to me."

"I did. I did stop."

"You can't even admit it and own up to it. I know you didn't quit because you kept leaving a trail of receipts and empty boxes of medicine in the trash can. It's like you weren't even trying to hide it."

"I'll quit. I swear I'll quit."

"I don't believe you," Walter said.

Drake let go of a couple sobs then. He was embarrassed that the man heard him during such a vulnerable time, but maybe it would strengthen his case. It wasn't long before he gained his composure and sniffled. "I'm so scared," he said. "I'm gonna die out here."

"Drake, I have to go."

"Please," Drake begged as he cried. "Please, give me one more chance. I won't fuck up ever again. I swear on my fucking life. I'll be a good boy, I promise."

"Goodbye, Drake."

"Wait! Don't hang up! Please, don't hang up! Please-"

All he could hear was the dial tone.

The young man let go of a sob, and his arm dropped weakly. He hopelessly leaned all his weight against the payphone, his eyes closed and his heart shattered. "Fuck," he choked. "Oh-ho-ho, fuck." He placed his free hand over his eyes, using his thumb and pointer finger to apply pressure against the lids so that he felt the tiniest bit of pain that he felt he deserved. "You fucked it up. You fucking idiot! Fuck!"

After allowing himself a few more seconds for his breakdown, he slid his hand upwards, then starting combing through his hair. He sniffled and pushed himself back so that he supported his own weight again, then he placed the phone back onto the hook.

 ***END FLASHBACK***

Drake sniffled when he heard a twig snap. His heart started pounding against his chest. He looked around, searching for any sign of danger. Even though he was trying to stay quiet, he had to sniffle to keep his snot from dripping across his lips.

Moments later, a shadow appeared through the clearing in the bushes. It was Tad. Drake wiped his eyes as an attempt to hide the fact that he'd been crying.

"I got the flowers." The man sat down next to the boy. "Your note didn't specify where in the park you were. It took me fifteen minutes to find you."

The reason Drake had been short when paying Marcellas was because he'd spent some of the money on a bouquet of roses. He'd despised himself for it at first, but after sitting out in the cold for a few hours, he was glad that he'd done it.

"I'm really sorry," Drake said through chattering teeth. "I'm really, really, really sorry."

"I thought you liked me. I mean, I know at first you just needed a place to stay, but then you started initiating oral sex on your own and making my meals and cleaning the house while I was gone. You made me believe you shared the same feelings when you were really just using me for your own benefit. You knew you had me wrapped around your finger. And then I find out that you're sleeping with other people, and finally, it all clicked. You never gave a shit about me."

Drake hated himself for what was about to come out of his mouth, but he knew that it had to be done. "I did, too. I do have feelings for you."

Tad's ears seemed to perk up. He was believing it.

"It's just...this is all really new to me. I've never been with a guy before, like, voluntarily." _Throw abuse references in there to make him feel pity._ "After everything with my dad, I've always just kind of had this...fear...of being around older men." _Open up to him and he'll be putty in your hands._ "But then I moved in with you, and you're so kind and generous and patient." _Flattery will get you everywhere._ "I've never met someone like you. You treat me like...I'm an actual person." _Make eye contact and his heart will melt._ "I fucked up. I know I've completely fucked up." _Admit to fault._ "I just learned early on to build a shell around my heart to keep myself from getting hurt. I hate myself, so it's hard for me to believe that anyone could possibly feel like I'm worth it. I mean, my own family practically shunned me when I was at an all-time low." _Deflect! Deflect! Deflect!_ "And I know that it doesn't make what I did right, but me and her already had this agreement before me and you became a thing." _Refer to him as a partner and he'll forget everything you've ever done wrong._

"I wish you would've told me before about owing that drug dealer money." He had read about it on the note that the boy had left with the flowers.

"I'm sorry," Drake said. "This was all a mistake. But I swear it was just sex. I don't feel anything towards her. I was just so scared that those guys would kill me, and I didn't know any other way to get money that quickly. My life was literally on the line. They've threatened my family."

"I understand why you did it."

With those words, Drake knew that he wouldn't be freezing his ass off for much longer. "I'm so, so, so sorry." To further play with the man's feelings, he placed his hand on top of Tad's. "I never meant to hurt you like that. Can you forgive me?"

Tad looked at him, then wiped the water from his cold, red cheeks. "Of course."

Drake knew that he wanted a kiss by the way he was staring hungrily at his lips, so he leaned forwards and pressed his lips against Tad's. The kiss became hot and heavy pretty quickly, but before the young man could lead him back to his truck for a quick blowjob, Tad pulled away, then scooted himself back against a tree trunk. He smirked mischievously, then unzipped the zipper on his jeans.

"Can we do this somewhere else?" Drake asked. This was his and Meelah's spot, and he didn't want to ruin the memory of it by putting his mouth on his former coach's penis where his girlfriend had died.

"Show me how bad you wanna come back home." He unfastened the button.

"Can we do this in your truck? I'm so cold."

"No, I like it right here. I wanna fuck under the stars."

Drake gave in because he desperately needed shelter. He started to lean over Tad's crotch, but he was stopped.

"Nuh-uh. Not like that," the man said. "Take off your pants."

"What?"

"Come on," the man urged, reaching for the boy's jeans himself.

Drake pulled back. "What are you doing?"

"You just told me that you feel like you can't be loved. I'm gonna prove you wrong. You're gonna give your whole self to me, and then I'm gonna prove how much I love you by not running away afterwards."

"I don't wanna do this," Drake said.

"I'm not gonna let you shy away. You just said you wanted to work on this. Open your heart. Let me in."

Jesus, this had really backfired. Is it too late to flee, and if he did, would it be worth it?

Tad was getting tired of waiting. "Then you can freeze out here for all I care. I've been nothing but patient with you. If you can't commit to me, then I️ can't stay in this relationship any longer." The man started to button his pants, but Drake stopped him.

"Wait. Wait!" He sighed and cursed out loud, but he started to unzip his jeans.

Tad could feel his heart exploding out of his chest. He smiled as he watched his former student remove his pants and boxers. Drake, now half-naked, met his eyes timidly, searching for guidance on what to do next.

"Don't be shy." Tad shimmied his pants and underwear down further to reveal his penis. "Sit on it."

The young man was repulsed. God, he didn't want to do this. "Why don't you get behind me and I'll get on my knees-"

"No, you're going to be on top doing all the work. This is how you'll prove to me that you want this, too."

Drake didn't make any attempts to get started, so Tad grabbed him and pulled him onto his lap. Drake was straddling him. The young man felt uncomfortably close to him. "Please, can we do this at your house after we stop and get my pills? I️ swear I'd be a much better fuck that way."

"No, I want you sober for this. It's not about being good or not. It's about giving your whole self to me. You said you wanted to stop guarding your heart so aggressively. This is me helping you. Now lube it up, get me hard, and then we're good to go."

Drake spat onto his palm, then gripped the man's private member in his hand and tugged. The only thought running through his mind was, _"This is your fault, Walter."_ As he jerked Tad's dick, Tad leaned in and kissed Drake's neck just as passionately as he had been kissing his lips minutes before. The boy could feel his coach's hands everywhere. He squeezed his eyes closed with discomfort when he felt Tad grab his ass, causing a pain to shoot through one of the cheeks that had a fresh bruise on it.

"You've gotta relax or it's gonna hurt," Tad said. "Just trust me. I'm not gonna leave you."

Drake was trying to get the man as close to orgasming as possible. That means that his penis would spend less time inside of him. The young man quickly moved his free hand to his shirt when he felt Tad lifting it up. Even though he had a band-aid over the branding, he was still very self-conscious about it, and he didn't want to be fully naked with the man anyway. Unfortunately, Tad didn't care want Drake wanted. Since he couldn't slide the shirt over the boy's head, he grabbed the front of it in his fists and ripped it open, revealing his bare chest. He pressed his lips against the boy's skin, and his tongue traveled over Drake's nipple.

The boy was too grossed out then. He pulled back. "I can't do this."

"Just relax." He pulled him closer again.

Drake closed his eyes, but he couldn't stop a tear from slipping across his cheek. He didn't want this. God, he didn't want this! Why wouldn't Tad let him go? Why wasn't Drake putting up an actual fight? Why was he allowing this to happen? His nostrils flared as he was licked, as he was touched, as he was rubbed, as he was squeezed, as he was kissed. He felt gross, and the only thing that made it worse was when Tad ripped off his band-aid, revealing the words that his father had carved into his skin.

"Ahh!" Drake yelled with surprise. His face immediately went red. He was humiliated. He started to push himself to his feet and hide his shameful scar.

Tad grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. He pressed his lips against the horrid insults and gave him a gentle kiss on his stinging skin. "You're beautiful," he said. "You're perfect to me."

Drake couldn't stop himself from letting go of a sob. He wanted nothing more than to die. He hated himself. He wished Walter could be here right now, watching what he'd forced Drake to do. This was all his fucking fault.

Even though he was shaking and crying, Tad didn't seem bothered. He thought that Drake was shaking from the freezing cold. He thought that the boy was crying because he was finally letting go and giving into love or whatever delirious shit Tad believed in. This man was fucking insane. Drake was shaking because he felt like he was being raped and his step-father had organized the whole thing. He was crying because his life was absolute shit, and for some reason, be kept putting himself through hell just to survive it. He was crying because he was sober. He was crying because everyone had given up on him. He was crying because he had given up on himself a long time ago.

"You ready?" The man pulled Drake closer as he leaned back against the tree trunk again. "Come on. I'll help you."

Drake allowed Tad to help him lower onto his penis, and once he felt the tip penetrate him, he started to lift back up with shock, but the man pushed him down further. A sound of pain left Drake's lips. Tad's penis wasn't the longest in the world by any means, but what he lacked in length, he made up for in width. The coach's hands moved over Drake's ass, across his thighs, in between his legs, until finally they stopped on his hips. Again, the man guided his hole to the right place and pushed down.

"Just loosen up your muscles."

Tad was able to penetrate him two more times before Drake felt his junk explode through his backside. He could even feel the man's cock pulsing inside of him. Tad moaned, and Drake removed himself from his lap and reached for his boxers. He was surprised at how fast the man had blown his load, but he wasn't going to argue with it. He'd done his part. Now it was time for Charlie to do his.

* * *

Of all the fucking nights, fucking Walmart was out of fucking Triple C's. Drake felt absolutely sick. He couldn't shake the feeling of Tad's dick inside of him, and every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the man's face full of pleasure as he came.

The bathroom door opened and Tad stepped out wearing only his briefs. He slipped under the covers and leaned over the boy with a smile. Since Drake's back was to him, the man forced his head between Drake's shoulder and jaw and kissed the nook of his neck. Drake closed his eyes with disgust when he felt a large hand slide up his leg, the thumb grazing over his butt cheek before it disappeared under his shirt.

As an attempt to stop whatever it was that was about to start, Drake spoke, "Um, if it's okay, I think I would like to buy my pills from that site you showed me."

Tad pulled back. "Yeah, of course."

"Isn't it dangerous to buy things with your card on those sites, though? Don't people sell credit card information on there all the time?"

"You don't buy things with your card. You use Bit coin."

Drake didn't care what that was, but he didn't mind learning about it if it meant that Tad would stop touching him. "What is that?"

"I'll explain it all to you in the morning when we order them." He turned and glanced at the clock, then turned off the lamp. "Jesus, it's already five a.m. Let's get some sleep."

Drake felt the man wrap an arm across him and pull him closer. Tad kissed the back of his hair, then nestled his head in the crook of his neck and closed his eyes. Drake could feel each time he exhaled out of his nose, and it brought goosebumps up on his skin.

Tad grabbed his hand. "Goodnight. I love you."

At those words, Drake could no longer hold back his tears. They left his eyes, but he stayed silent so that the man couldn't hear him crying.

"You know, when someone says that to you, it's proper etiquette to say it back."

"Goodnight," Drake whispered. "Love you." He couldn't get himself to say _**I** love you_. Although it all meant the same thing, saying _I_ made him feel weaker for some reason.

Once again, Drake felt the back of his head being kissed. Maybe now Tad would go to sleep. Maybe now he could cry in peace.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yes, I'm aware that Bit coin is one word, but I tried writing it a bunch of different ways, and FanFiction will not allow it. Anyway, it's been three weeks and I've literally had zero reviews on the last chapter until this morning, so thanks xPala. You're single-handedly the only reason I updated. I spend way more time than I should writing, doing research for, thinking about, brainstorming, and editing this story, and I'm not getting much feedback. You guys all kept asking for me to kill Martin, my favorite villain of the story, so I did, and then you guys stopped reviewing. I told myself I would never be this person because I find these people annoying, but I'm not above being annoying, so if I don't start getting more feedback, I'm just gonna kill Drake off or end the story with Drake not changing anything. I had an entire other sequel planned, but recovery isn't something I can just spend a chapter on. It's a long process. It will take several chapters, several relapses, several day ones. If you want the sequel, please review. I hate saying things like this because I feel rude, but imagine being me. If I'm spending this much time trying to make something for you guys to enjoy, don't you see how frustrating it would be to not receive a simple comment? One chapter can take weeks. One review takes two minutes.**

 **Anyway, thanks for those who have been here since the beginning of _Charlie Freak_ and are still reading. Despite my rant, I appreciate all of you.**


	18. The Never-ending Night(mare) Part 1

_(1 week later)_

"Are you sure your boyfriend is okay with this?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Drake said.

"Does _he_ know that?" Molly asked. She could see that the young man was searching his mind for a response, but she interrupted his thoughts. "Look, you know I don't give a shit. We never talk about our personal lives, and I like it that way. But it was obvious that he was pissed about us for a reason."

"I've been staying with him," Drake admitted. "And _maybe_ giving out a handjob here and there to keep him happy. He blew it all out of proportion and fell in love with me. I just needed a place to go."

Molly seemed surprised, but in an amused kind of way.

"Don't give me that look," Drake said. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "I'm not a prostitute."

"Of course not," she said sarcastically.

"I'm not."

"Sure."

Drake shook his head with irritation, then looked to his right out the glass balcony door. "So are we doing this or...?"

"I just wanna be sure that you have him under control. He can't tell anyone."

"He won't tell," Drake assured.

Molly accepted his answer. "Alright." She smiled, then shoved him backwards onto her bed. "Now that that's out of the way..."

* * *

Drake closed his eyes against the blindfold and lifted his chin as Molly's tongue flickered over his opening. As she sucked on his erect member, he let go of a quiet curse. And of course she wouldn't be Molly if she didn't follow up her pleasure with pain. He suddenly felt her teeth on his sensitive skin. His hands jerked forwards, for he wanted to stop her, but the cuffs on his wrists wouldn't allow him to move them far from the headboard. He could feel her lips curl up into a smile. Drake's muscles tensed, but he couldn't deny how good she made him feel. She certainly knew what she was doing. She knew how to make a guy-

 _Crack!_

Drake's ears were ringing, which made his already pounding head ache even further. He blinked his eyes, but because of the blindfold, he couldn't see a thing. What the hell was happening? He didn't want to pull out the safe word - he didn't want to be that guy - but he didn't understand the point of straight up bashing him over the head. After another hard hit, Drake finally gave in.

"Martini."

Molly had chosen the safe word. Drake didn't really remember, but apparently that's what he had ordered for her when he'd first approached her at a bar. He'd been really drunk and had fallen asleep almost immediately after being led upstairs to her room. The next morning, Drake had had the wildest sex of his life. Molly must've enjoyed it, too, because she'd invited him back. She started pushing to play out her BDSM fantasies not long after. Drake would be lying if he said he hadn't had a wet dream or two about this kind of sex play, so when he had the opportunity to bring his fantasies to life, he took it. This was the first time since they had met that their safe word had been used. He didn't want the sex to stop; he just didn't want to be hit that hard again because he was sure that he'd been close to losing consciousness.

Finally, Drake managed to rub his head against his forearm enough to get his blindfold off, and it was then that the ringing in his ears lessened. At once, the sights and sounds around him returned in an overwhelming moment. He weakly lifted his head, and standing at the foot of the bed was Molly. She was yelling. _Jesus, she's so fucking loud. What the fuck?_ Drake followed her gaze to his left side, and standing next to him was her husband, who was holding a metal baseball bat. _Oh, shit!_

Richard turned his attention to the boy when he heard the cuffs rattling against the headboard. "Welcome back," he said as he wound the bat back again. He then swung at Drake's abdomen.

"Aahhh!" He hunched over as Molly continued screaming in protest.

"How long have you been cheating on me?!"

"Richard, calm down!" Molly tried.

"Calm?! You wanna see calm?! How's this for calm?!" Swing.

"Aaahhhh!" Drake clenched his teeth together and coughed when the butt end of the bat smashed against his jaw. Blood splattered from his lips.

"How could you cheat on me with this piece of shit?!" Richard yelled. "He's clearly got some sort of drug problem. And I give you EVERYTHING! I treat you like a queen!"

"Molly, undo the cuffs," Drake said as he tugged at his wrists.

"Shut up!" Richard hit him with the bat again.

"Gaaahh!" Drake let go of a sob, and his eyes watered over. Blood poured from his face like a waterfall. It was impossible to tell how much was coming from his nose and how much was dripping from his mouth. "Owww," he whined.

"Jesus, Richard, let him go!" Molly said. "He's just a kid, for Christ's sake!"

The man grabbed Drake's jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. "Did you know she was married?"

"No, I swear." Drake found it hard to keep his eyes open.

"Bullshit! There's pictures of us together all over the walls!"

The young man tensed up, for he knew he was about to be hit again. Sure enough, the bat collided with his skin. "Aaahhhhh!"

"DID YOU KNOW SHE WAS MARRIED?!"

"No!" A moment later: "Gaaaahhhhh! Stop!"

Again, the man asked, and again, Drake denied. Just as the bat was wound back, the boy gave in.

"Okay! Okay! I knew! I knew she was married!" Drake was actually crying now, and he was bleeding all over the place. "Okay? I'm sorry. Don't hit me."

"Richard..." Molly tried to pull him away, but she was violently shoved backwards.

"I'll deal with you later, you cheating cunt!" He turned back to the kid. "I should fucking kill you!"

Drake tugged at the cuffs, his heart racing. He flinched when he heard the sound of a pocketknife blade clicking into place. "No, God, don't." He tried to scoot himself further against the headboard when the knife was moved towards his crotch. "No, don't!"

"I'll settle for cutting off your balls, though."

"Don't! DON'T!" Drake squirmed around, but the second his private member was roughly gripped, he was frozen from pain. He watched helplessly as the weapon was brought closer. "Stop! Stop! Stop!" he cried.

"Richard!" Molly yelled.

"If I ever catch you here again, I will fucking cut off your balls and feed them to you. Do you understand me?"

Drake rapidly nodded his head. "Yes, sir."

"I never wanna see you step foot near this house again."

"I won't. I swear to God I won't. Please."

The man grabbed a fistful of hair and violently shoved his head back against the headboard. "I will kill you if I ever find out that you've come back here."

"I swear I won't come back here ever."

"That's three times that you've promised." Richard grabbed the small, silver keys off of the nightstand, then started to unlock the handcuffs.

The second Drake was free, he got off the bed as quickly as possible. He met Molly's eyes, and although she knew that she was in a shitload of trouble, she didn't seem fearful for her life. Richard was a hothead - with good reason, Drake supposed. However, he reminded him of his father, which triggered a lot of overwhelming emotions that he was trying to bury until he was in a safer environment.

"Don't look at my wife. Get the hell out of here."

Drake started to pick up his clothes, but was shoved.

"I said GET THE HELL OUT!" Richard picked up his baseball bat again.

Drake bolted when he saw it. He took a left, ran down the stairs, and yanked open the front door. Tad's truck was parked in the driveway. The man was inside, just waiting for Drake's shameful arrival.

The naked boy opened the passenger's side door and got inside, still clearly shaken up by the events that had just occurred. "Why did you do that?!" he pitifully asked the man with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I can't believe you had the nerve to actually cheat on me _again_!"

"I explained why I was doing it! I thought you were okay with it! Now how am I supposed to pay those guys off?!"

"How on earth did you get it into your head that I was okay with you sleeping with someone else?!"

"You said you understood!"

"Yeah, I understood why you did it last time! I didn't think you'd go and cheat on me again!"

Drake hunched over and hid his face in his hands as he let go of a couple sobs. "I'm so fucked! I'm so fucking fucked!"

Tad cranked up his truck, then backed out of the driveway. "You brought this on yourself."

Drake only had a few hours left until he had to be at the Oxygen. There were only so many options. "Can you pay it? I'll fuck you for it if that's what it'll take." He could get himself through it since Tad only needed about four pumps after all. It would be over before he knew it.

"Now why would I do a thing like that when I can get what I want from you for free?"

Tad met his eyes challengingly as if he was waiting for Drake to argue with this new way of "paying rent." The young man didn't have the guts to disagree. He was currently naked and couldn't risk being kicked out of the car. Plus, he had too many other things to worry about right now.

"Can I, please, just borrow the money?"

"Borrow? Since when do you ever pay me back for the shit I give you?"

"Tad, please! This isn't a fucking game!"

The man shook his head incredulously. "First, you cheat on me, and then you beg me for money. There is something really wrong with you. You're lucky I'm even letting you come back home. You're gonna be doing a lot of shit just to make up for this." Tad reached in front of Drake and opened the dashboard. He pulled out some napkins and tossed them at the boy. "Jesus, will you wipe yourself off? You're getting blood all over my fucking seat."

Drake reached up and pulled down the visor. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw a trail of blood dripping from his temple all the way down to his shoulders. There was also a red river leaving his nose and lips. Jesus, he looked like hell. How could Tad do this to him? Maybe that's why he'd stayed in the car.

"God, you're a fucking mess," the man said. "And I mean that in more ways than one."

* * *

Drake combed his fingers through his hair and gave himself one last look in the mirror before he opened the bathroom door. The second he stepped into the living room, Tad noticed his entrance. He looked up from the laptop.

"Wow, you look really nice," he complimented. "You're wearing my favorite outfit I bought you."

Drake had on a plain, white tee shirt, and over that was an unbuttoned blue and black flannel. He wore black skinny jeans that showed his knees as clear as day and a pair of Converse. It all matched his severely bruised face so well. He spoke in a passive-aggressive manner. "Well, when they kill me for showing up without their money, at least I'll look decent when someone finds my body in a fucking ditch."

The man turned his attention back to the computer screen. "If they're as dangerous as you say, then I don't think you're gonna look nearly as good as you think when someone finds your mangled up body." He picked up on Drake's silence and realized that maybe his joke hadn't sounded all that funny to the young man. He lifted his eyes and sighed when he saw that Drake's eyes had watered over. "I'm kidding."

Drake grabbed his jacket and started to slip it on. "You're a fucking prick."

Tad chuckled at the fact that Drake had actually taken his words seriously. He set the laptop down next to him then stood. "Come on, Drake," he said innocently. He made his way over to the boy and started to wrap his arms around him, but was shoved away.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

Tad furrowed his eyebrows. "It was just a joke."

"You know what's a joke? Us. And the fact that you think we have some sort of real relationship." Drake was pissed, so he was unleashing all of his anger out on his former coach. "Did you really think that I was in love with you? WAKE UP!"

Tad flinched at the sudden loudness of his voice. "You don't mean that."

It was Drake's turn to chuckle, his coming out in a more bitter way. "God, you're a fucking insane person! I was using you! Don't you see that?!"

"But you said you loved me."

"I said it because I needed a place to sleep. I cooked because you gave me food. I cleaned because you bought me clothes. I sucked your dick because you would give me drug money. Everything I did was because I knew I could manipulate you into doing me a favor later. There was no love involved. In fact, I fucking hate you."

"Why are you being so cold?" Tad was clearly heartbroken.

"Oh, I'm cold?!" Here was that Parker temper that he'd tried to hide for so long. "You're practically sending me off to my fucking death, but I'm the cold one?! You fucking piece of shit! I gave you everything! You fucking raped me in the same exact spot that the love of my life fucking died-"

"Raped you?" He was genuinely confused and hurt that Drake felt that way.

"-and I am done! I'm done letting you have your way with me!"

"You pretended to be in love with me for drugs, and you're calling _me_ the rapist?"

"I told you a million times that I didn't wanna do it. You made me do it just to avoid being homeless and starving or freezing or whichever killed me first!"

Tad raised his eyebrows and went into defense mode. "You had just went on this whole spiel about how you don't let people in-"

"You know what? It doesn't matter. It's my fault. It's always my fault."

"I'm not saying that! I guess I just misunderstood the situation."

"I'm leaving."

"Let talk this out," Tad tried kindly, his voice sounding apologetic.

Jesus, he really had no idea. Drake almost felt bad. Almost. He pushed past him, but his bicep was grabbed and he was forced to spin around. He breathed deeply through his nose and pursed his lips.

"If you walk out that door, you little cunt, you better not ever come back here again!"

"I wouldn't come back here if my life depended on it, you disgusting fucking pedophile." He snatched his arm, then shoved the door open.

"Your father was right about you, you know? All you are is a worthless, cock-sucking slut!" He'd seen Drake's branding, and he'd used it against him.

Drake had no idea what had happened after that. He'd somehow blacked out during a bout of rage. When he became aware of his existence again, he found himself standing over Tad. The man was bleeding and crying. Drake felt an extreme amount of pain in his hand and saw that his knuckles were busted open and oozing blood all over the place. _Jesus, what have I done?_ And if it ever was up for debate before, Drake now knew the truth. He was turning into his father.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey, Walter," Drake tried (and failed) to say in a nonchalant way.

Sigh. "I told you to stop calling."

"I know. I know. I just...I mean, how are you?" Drake squeezed his eyes closed. God, he was already fucking this up.

"What do you want?"

"What? No, nothing. I just...miss you guys...is all."

"We're fine," Walter said. "I'm gonna hang up now."

"No!" He grabbed the cord of the payphone nervously as if that would stop him from being disconnected. "No, don't! Just..." Drake sighed. He felt his fingers trembling as he combed them through his hair.

"What do you want?" the man asked more firmly this time to let him know that he knew why he'd called.

"I... Please, just hear me out. I owe some money. I thought maybe you would help me out." He was quick to add, "I'll pay you back. I swear."

"I can't help you," Walter said.

Drake felt tears poking at his eyes suddenly, and his heart dropped into his stomach. "It's just five hundred. If he doesn't have his money in a few hours, he will kill me. Do you understand? He will _kill_ me."

"I'm not gonna keep bailing you out of these messes that you keep making for yourself."

Drake couldn't hold the dam behind his eyes back. Tears streamed down his cheeks again. "Please. I am begging you, Walter. I am begging you. I'll do anything."

"I'm sorry, Drake."

The young man let go of a sob. He was going to die. He was going to be tortured, and then killed. And no one cared. No one gave a shit about him. Not anymore.

"This is your fault, you know?" he said, and although his voice was hard, it shook, and his teeth were clenched. "Everything my dad ever did to me - the name-calling, the abuse, the rape - it's because of you. Everything got worse when you came along. Did you think it was just a coincidence that he started raping me after you married my mom? He would come into my room, throw me down, and he used to have to rip my boxers because I would fight so hard. He'd pin me down so that I couldn't move." Drake's voice cracked and went up a couple octaves as he broke down. "And then he'd force his way inside of me no matter how much I begged him not to." He knew that it was a low blow, but the only thing he could think of to do was play off of the man's guilt. "And it hurt _so_ bad, and all I could do was lay there and scream for help that never came." He sniffled. God, he hated talking about it, but he had no other options. "And then you talked Mom into leaving me behind last summer so that I'd learn my lesson about the importance of school or whatever your bullshit excuse was for not wanting me around. I️ learned my lesson alright. _Every fucking day_ , I️ learned my lesson. You were the reason I had to stay with that monster."

"Drake..."

"I'm not done!" the boy yelled shakily. "Do you know the kinds of things he would say to me? Sometimes, he would describe what Mom was like during an orgasm. Sometimes, he'd make me beg for it. He'd torture me if I didn't, so I did. I fucking begged for it." He let go of a couple sobs, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost incomprehensible through his crying. "And sometimes, he wouldn't stop until I came. Sometimes, I'd be there for hours, leaning over my bed with my face in the sheets and my naked ass in the air, just trying to jerk myself off while he stuck his dick inside of me and talked about Mom or Meelah...or you. Because he thought I was gay because sometimes, even though I didn't want to, I would cum during the rapes," he admitted. "I couldn't help it, and I was so ashamed, and he would just laugh. And when it was over, he would toss me to the side like I meant nothing. It's kinda like what you do. When I fuck up, I don't get chances with you anymore. I get kicked to the curb. After summer was over, you kicked me out of my own home twice. The first time, you left me no other choice but to go back there, and then he tried to kill me. Then you felt a little bad and let me come home, but not for long. Now I'm staying with my old fucking teacher, who used to molest me in his office every Tuesday after school, and he's horny _all the time_ , so I have to give him blowjobs _all the time_ just so I have a place to sleep and food to eat. And last week, he actually full-on fucked me, so I guess that that's gonna be a thing now, but I'm not even stressing about it because I won't fucking be alive come tomorrow!" His life was so fucked that all he could do was laugh about it.

Walter had no words, so Drake continued to attack him.

"And not only do I have all of that shit I have to deal with on a daily basis, but I have to also put up with you always judging me and getting on my ass about getting high. I wouldn't need to stay so fucked up all the time if it wasn't for you. You're the reason my life is so shit. It's not because of my dad, or this fucking guy I owe money to, or this teacher that won't stop putting his hands all over me. It's your fucking fault. You did this to me. You're the reason I was abused. You're the reason I was raped. You're the reason I'm a fucking junkie. You're the reason I have to whore myself out. You're the reason I'm gonna die tonight. So I hope you're fucking happy because you have destroyed my fucking life, and I fucking hate your fucking guts, you motherfucking asshole cunt."

* * *

How could he still have said no after that? After everything he'd said to him? That was Drake's last shot, and he blew it. He fucking blew it. Now there was nothing to do but accept the fact that he was a dead man walking. Maybe he could run away. He could just hitchhike his way to Arizona or someplace warm. Marcellas couldn't find him in the middle of the desert, and maybe being homeless there wouldn't be so harsh during winter nights. Plus, it probably doesn't rain so much there. Maybe he'd get hired at a ranch, and they would pay him and give him shelter and food. He could round up sheep and pet horses and milk cows and do ranch shit all day long. He could have a better life in Arizona.

However, he knew that he couldn't leave his short, chaotic life here. If he bailed, Marcellas would move on to the next best thing: his family. No matter how pissed Drake was at them, he couldn't let them die because of his mistakes. He had to face this himself. He didn't know enough about Arizona to be sure if they had ranches and farms anyway. Maybe he should've paid more attention in geography.

Drake felt his muscles tense when he turned the familiar corner and saw Cedric down the hall. The man no longer greeted him by asking about a recent football game. It was just as well, Drake supposed. He didn't really have a way of getting that information now. His father was dead, he hadn't had a phone in months, and Coach Tad, ironically enough, was not a fan of sports.

As Drake approached the man, Cedric opened the door, allowing him to step inside. Oh, God, Drake hated it here. He immediately felt all eyes on him, hoping for a show just as entertaining as last week's. _Fuck these assholes._

"Jesus, what happened to your face, boy?" Jackie asked in a teasing way instead of with genuine concern.

"You got my money?" Marcellas said.

This was it. This was where his life would finally come to an end. He pondered how they would do it - how they would kill him. Would they beat him to death, or would they just shoot him and be done with it? Drake prayed for the latter. It would be much quicker that way, and hopefully painless.

"Well?" the man pushed impatiently.

"I...I couldn't get the money," Drake admitted softly. Prepare for a blow in three...two...one...

Nothing.

"I respect that you had enough balls to come and face me instead of making me look for you."

A compliment? Maybe he would be let off with another warning.

Marcellas stood, and Drake's muscles tensed. The man slowly circled him like a lion stalking its prey. Drake kept his head low. He feared that making eye contact with any of these guys would give them enough reason to go off on him. He wondered if they could hear his heart beating. He definitely could. It felt like it was beating out of his chest, and at any moment, it would explode out of his rib cage and land on the floor in front of them all, leaving him falling onto his knees with a hole gaping through his chest. Finally, the man stopped in front of him, so Drake lifted his head slightly and met his eyes.

"You're not gonna try to explain to me why you don't have the money? Aren't you just dying to give me a list of reasons why you've showed up empty-handed?"

"Not really," Drake answered, and although he was terrified, he held the man's gaze.

Martin never liked excuses. In fact, they pissed him off. Unless he was desperate, Drake tried to avoid them at all costs. Marcellas was a lot like Martin in this way. He didn't have a good excuse anyway. He wasn't about to admit to an entire room full of tough thugs that he was practically selling his body for cash. Who knows what they would do to him then?

Marcellas nodded. He seemed to appreciate Drake's answer. This was going much better than the boy thought.

"I like you," Marcellas said. "You know I like you. I tell you this all the time. But I warned you last time. I've got a business to run and a rep to upkeep."

Drake nodded. "Do what you have to do."

* * *

The back of Drake's head was pounding as if a mallet had smashed an ice pick into his skull. He was sure that blood was trickling down his neck and matting up his hair. Hopefully it was only blood and not his brains oozing out through his bashed open skin. Jesus, the pain was agonizing. He groaned, then opened his eyes, and even though the moon was out, leaving the sanctity of the darkness behind his eyelids gave him even more of a migraine. Again, he groaned, and it came out muffled because of the cloth gag that had been forced into his mouth, which caused saliva to drip down his chin.

"The kid's awake."

Drake tried to blink away his blurry vision. Had he taken Triple C's and just forgotten? _No, no way._ He wouldn't be in this much pain if so. He lifted his head and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment.

"We're almost there. Put the bag on him." This was unmistakably Marcellas' voice.

Drake turned his head to the left, and the way the world spun around him almost made him nauseous. He immediately knew that he was in the backseat of a vehicle. As he looked out the window, it was impossible to decipher his location. He was already dizzy, so the speed at which the trees and buildings whirred past made everything extra blurry. He noticed that his wrists were cuffed together and looped through the hand grip on the ceiling of the SUV. Since he had been unconscious, the cuffs had constricted his blood flow so much that both of his arms all the way up to his elbows were asleep. He tried to bend his fingers, and they exploded with a strange sensation that he could only compare to what a Beanie Baby must feel like when a child squishes it and moves the little tiny pellet stuffing around.

"I don't see the bag," the man next to him said.

Drake turned his head and looked at him. He was pretty sure this guy's name was...Abdul maybe? Abdul seemed rather pumped up and anxious compared to his normal self.

"Check the trunk." It was Marcellas again.

As Abdul reached over the back of their seat, Drake weakly turned his head towards the front two seats. Rashaad was driving, and Marcellas was sitting on the passenger's side. Drake's heart fell out of his ass when Marcellas turned in his seat to check on Abdul's progress, flashing a glimpse of the Glock that was in his hand. The man noticed that he saw it and watched as Drake closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. Drake tugged at his wrists, but he knew that there was no way of getting out of these cuffs.

Suddenly, Drake felt a bag being shoved over his head. He didn't bother to fight against it. He knew that it was hopeless.

"Have you heard from Tyrese? Did his group find Sammie?"

"Yeah, they're already there," Rashaad said.

Drake was already having trouble breathing under the bag, and the warm air that he was exhaling caused him to sweat. He had to breathe deeper just to suck in enough air through the teeny tiny holes in the bag, and what made it harder was that he still had the gag in his mouth. He was pretty sure that they all heard his shaky breathing. They knew that he was scared. That's exactly the way they wanted him.

Roughly ten minutes later, Drake could feel the car stop. _Jesus, this is it. It's fucking time._ He heard their doors slam shut and knew that they had gotten out of the SUV. _Here it comes._ His door opened, and whoever had opened it was now unlocking his cuffs, then locking them around his wrists again, but without attaching him to any part of the car.

"Get out." It was Rashaad.

Drake didn't want to. God, he didn't want to. He felt much safer here. To stall, he rubbed his pink wrists, attempting to get his blood circulating again. Rashaad wasn't having it. He roughly grabbed two fistfuls of the boy's shirt and yanked him out of the car, then he shoved him onto the dirt.

"Ah!" Drake hissed. He hadn't been able to prevent it because he couldn't see anything.

"I said get out of the fucking car!" Again, Rashaad grabbed a hold of him - this time, the bag and a good bit of his hair - and dragged him onto his feet.

"Gaaahh!" Drake yelled through his gag, trying hard to do what the man wanted so that it would be less painful. It was hard to tell which way was up and which way was down with his vision blocked.

Rashaad suddenly snatched him by the back of the neck. He dug his uneven fingernails into the boy's skin and started leading him somewhere. Drake was forced to walk quickly, and he tripped over his feet a couple of times. Jesus, how far were they going? The pain shooting through his neck was almost unbearable. Drake heard a loud noise as a heavy door slid open. Not long after that, another weighty door opened. Rashaad instructed him to watch his step, and the next thing Drake knew was that he was being led down a staircase. _Oh, fuck, where am I?_

As he entered this new room, he could hear a man screaming out in pain. He immediately stopped in his tracks, his fear growing immensely, but Rashaad forced him along. He cowered up next to the man as if Rashaad would actually protect him from whatever dangers lurked down here.

Moments later, Drake was forced into a chair. As his feet were forced apart and tightly tied to its legs, someone else removed his cuffs and instead secured his wrists to the armrests via rope. He was absolutely terrified. He was bound, and the sound of painful screeches emanating from somewhere behind him was overwhelming. It took everything he had inside of him to keep from pissing on himself.

"You want us to rough him up a little?" It sounded like Jackie, but Drake couldn't be sure.

"No, he actually had the fucking decency to show up on time and admit he was short," Marcellas said from across the room. "Unlike this little pussy."

"Gaahh!" the mysterious stranger yelled when he was kicked.

"Get him up and put him in a chair."

Drake could hear footsteps coming his way again. Thank God he hadn't chickened out and tried to hide from them. It was by far the best decision he had ever made in his entire life. He didn't have many of those. This one could potentially be the reason he may get out of this alive tonight.

Drake's muscles tensed when his chair was tilted backwards. He was being pulled across the room, the wooden legs squeaking and scratching against the concrete floor. For a moment, he wondered what Walter would think if he could see him now. It was easy to deny Drake's requests for cash when he had been perfectly fine at the time. If he could see his current situation, would this change his mind, or was teaching the boy a lesson worth the possibility of losing him for good?

The young man almost bit his lip when he came to a sudden stop and his chair was snatched upright so that he was resting on all four legs again.

"Please, don't do this," the other captive begged. He sounded a lot older than Drake. "I'll get your money, okay?"

Drake could hear the sound of cuffs locking, and not long after, his hands were untied. He was forced to straighten his right arm, then he felt cold metal constricting his wrist. He hated that he couldn't see. He had no idea what was happening around him or who he was with or where he was. He was completely blind to everything.

Suddenly, the bag was removed from Drake's head, leaving his hair a frizzy, tangled mess. He found himself to be in a large room, but unlike at the Oxygen, Marcellas' men weren't lining the walls. There were only six guys down here as opposed to the usual fifteen or twenty, but that didn't make Drake any less nervous. Although the room was dimly lit with old, yellow lights that were spread far apart, the young man's head pounded, and he still had to adjust his eyes to the new lighting.

Just like expected, his wrist was shackled to a table. The table was small and round in shape, and sitting on the opposite side, also with a cuffed wrist, was a man. He looked to be in his fifties, but upon further examination, he was no older than forty. He was clearly a junkie, which was probably the reason he was in this mess. His name was Sammie, and he had dried blood dripping from both nostrils. Sammie was just as terrified as Drake was, but Drake was trying hard to stay strong and get through this night with his dignity. If he was going to die, he didn't want to die a coward.

"I'm sure you both know why you're here," Marcellas spoke up.

Drake saw hands appear from behind him. It was Jackie. The man pulled the gag from his mouth and allowed it to hang around Drake's neck. It was then that Drake noticed that Sammie didn't have one.

"You both owe me a substantial amount of money. I've given you both several chances, and you just take advantage of that."

Sammie chimed in shakily, "I'm not taking advantage of your kindness. I just - ahh!"

A man who Drake suspected to be named Tyrese had shoved his face into the table. "Don't fucking interrupt."

Marcellas continued. "I'm gonna be straight-forward. One of you is gonna die tonight. And the other will follow them if I don't get my money before breakfast tomorrow."

There was no way that Drake would survive this. Even if he was the one left alive, there was no way that he could get that money. He'd had a week to get five hundred and couldn't come up with that. Now he'll have just a few hours to come up with five thousand. It was impossible.

"We're gonna play a little game."

Rashaad placed a gun in the middle of the table right in between Drake and Sammie. Drake immediately knew what it was for. He hung his head and closed his eyes as he let go of his shaky breath.

"Who's first?"

Sammie was begging for his life. Drake should be, too, but he didn't think it would help his situation. He had tried to commit suicide twice in the last year alone, so why was it so hard now to put that gun to his head? He still wanted to die, but just like when his father had tried to kill him, it was his instinct to fight it. The gun also made it scarier. Drake didn't mind the dying part. He was just worried about how much it would hurt and how long it would take.

 _Fuck it._

Drake reached his free arm out and everyone around him froze. Even Sammie stopped groveling and stared at him with bewilderment. Was Drake actually going to do it? Was Drake actually _that_ insane?

Drake had only ever held a gun once before, so it felt strange in his hand. They were never as heavy as he always expected. People in the movies always commented on a gun's weight as if, on your way to kill someone, that's what mattered. That's what made all the difference. That's what was most important.

Drake lifted the gun and nudged the barrel against his own temple. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly. His heart was beating so loudly in his chest that he was a hundred percent sure this time that everyone could hear it. Everyone was so silent that it was the only thing making noise. Well, that and the sound that the weapon made as he cocked it.

Surely, the single bullet that had been loaded into this gun wouldn't come out during the first shot. There was a one in six chance that Drake would pull the trigger and receive a fatal blow to the brain. It was good odds, but not assuring enough. If Drake's life was any sort of testimony to how poor his luck was, that would prove that the bullet was most likely in one of his three shots.

Although it wasn't a loud _BANG_ , the _click_ that the gun made after he pulled the trigger made him flinch. It had been right next to his ear, and he was so scared that the sound was piercing enough.

The crew's eyes moved over to Sammie, who's jaw was dropped open.

"Wait. Now wait a minute. This is fucking nuts," he protested.

Drake set the gun down in the middle of the table, his palms sweating and his fingers shaking. However, for voluntarily going first without any arguments, he was pretty sure he had gained some approval with these guys.

"I've got children," Sammie said. "They need me. Marcellas, I'll get your money. You know I'm good for it."

"You're gonna let an eighteen year old kid show you up?" Jackie teased. "Where are your balls?"

Sammie was clearly pissed as he picked up the gun, then pointed it towards his own head. Was Drake a bad person for praying that the bullet smashed through his skull and bounced around in there until his brain had turned into soup? He felt guilty for actually begging God to kill the stranger in front of him rather than himself. This guy had kids, for Christ's sake. Drake had taken Megan's father away, and now he was hoping that these children lost their dad because that would mean that he'd still be alive. But he was going to be a dad, too, pretty soon. The difference was that he was smart enough to keep his junkie ass as far away from his kid as possible.

"The fuck are you waiting for?" Rashaad rushed.

"This is so fucking stupid," Sammie mumbled, and then he pulled the trigger. _Click_.

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Drake's turn again. Maybe he wasn't verbally pleading for his life, but they knew that he was scared. His hand that was shackled to the table was trembling wildly, causing the chain to rattle and bring attention to it.

In this moment, when he was sure he was about to die, all he could think about was his mom. If she were here now, she would, no doubt, jump in front of this bullet for him. She did everything for him, and in return, he'd left her in a wheelchair with a broken heart and a growing Xanax habit. He wished that he was with her right now. There was so much that he needed to say to her, and he'd probably never get the chance to again after tonight. He just wanted her to know how sorry he was for everything he had ever put her through. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve him. He was nothing but chaos. Finally, he was getting the ending that he deserved, and now Audrey's life would be a lot less hectic.

"Come on, Drake. Don't pussy out on us now," Rashaad urged when he saw the young man's eyes water over.

Drake couldn't stop his tears from falling, but he did manage to stiffen his bottom lip and sniffle. He reached for the gun again, the handle now warm and coated with sweat.

 _Mom, I'm so, so, so sorry._ Drake used his thumb to cock the gun, then he lifted it up to his head. His nostrils flared as he closed his eyes, sending up one last prayer. However, instead of asking for mercy, he asked for forgiveness. From God, from his mother, from every single person that he had ever wronged in any way. When his pointer finger pressed down on the trigger and the gun let go of a _click_ , Drake was overwhelmed with sadness. He had been sure that time that his nine lives had run out. He had been sure that he was going to die, but here he was, still breathing. Drake's face contorted and he let go of a couple sobs as he hung his head. His back jerked with each one. God, he was so scared.

"Pass the gun," Jackie said, tapping Drake's arm to snap him back to reality.

The young man's voice cracked. "I don't wanna do this anymore."

"Give Sammie the gun."

"Please, just let us go. We'll get your money."

Sammie was surprised that Drake had vouched for both of them, but he nodded with agreement. They seemed to like the younger boy better. Maybe they would listen to him.

On the contrary, Jackie wound his fist back, then punched, punched, punched Drake in the face. Drake leaned his head back as pain course through him. He'd bitten the inside of his mouth, so blood stained his teeth. When he coughed, it splattered from his lips and into the air.

Jackie then grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head closer. "I don't know who the fuck you think I am, but when I tell you to goddamn do something, you fucking do it."

Blood trickled down Drake's chin. He leaned to the side and spat out what had been inside of his mouth, and as he did so, he noticed a lot of red stains in the concrete. There was a large, dried-up puddle near his feet. These guys have hosted this twisted "game" before. Someone had died in this very seat, and Drake was about to face the same fate. However, he obeyed and placed the gun on the tabletop again.

Drake watched as Sammie picked up the gun. Pretty soon, this would all be over. He knew that he was going to die, whether it was right now at this table or a couple hours later when he showed up empty handed once again.

"I'm so sorry," Sammie said.

Drake wondered who he was apologizing to. Maybe like him, there was a mother out there that he'd put through hell. Or maybe it was a goodbye to his children. It quickly became apparently, though, that the apology had been directed towards Drake when Sammie lifted the gun and pointed it at him. The young man went into panic mode. Just as the trigger was pushed down, Drake threw himself to the side, knocking his chair over. A loud bang filled his ears, and then there was yelling. Drake couldn't quite hear what was happening. All he heard was a loud ringing echoing through his ears. He squeezed his eyes closed as if that would stop the migraine in his head.

It was crazy that he knew that if he didn't get up and attempt to find shelter, then he would die here, but he had hit his head pretty hard during his fall, so he couldn't focus on anything but the pain. _Get up! Get up! Get up!_ He couldn't remember how to work his legs. It was like huffing computer duster and being one step away from blacking out. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. He couldn't react. But he knew that he needed to.

Jackie lifted Drake's chair up while Tyrese repeatedly hit Sammie. Marcellas squatted down in front of Drake, examining his newest injuries.

"It looks like it just grazed his ear a bit," Jackie said, then he followed the trail of blood up the side of Drake's face until he saw the wound on his temple caused by his head colliding with the concrete.

"Drake, you alright? Hey?" Marcellas patted the boy's cheek. "Can you hear me? Drake?"

 _Smack!_

Drake's head was turned with the force of the blow. He blinked with surprise, and his vision returned to him. "Jesus Christ!" he quietly hissed at the pain. He winced at the loud sound of Sammie screaming in the background. Suddenly, he remembered where he was and what had just happened. "Oh, fuck," he whined as fresh tears left his eyes. "I wanna go home."

Seeing that he was okay, Marcellas stood. "Put them right there." He pointed to the floor.

Drake flinched when Jackie pulled out a pocketknife. The man bent over and cut the ropes off of his feet, then he unlocked the handcuff that had cut through Drake's skin when his chair had tipped. The boy was then roughly snatched out of the chair, then tossed onto his knees. Moments later, Sammie was forced onto his knees next to him. He fell forwards and let out a scream.

Drake was pissed. He'd just vouched for the guy, and in return, the man had tried to kill him. "You fucking cunt."

Sammie was clearly in pain as he lifted himself off of his elbows and rested on his knees like the other boy. "You would've done the same had you only of thought of it first."

"Bullshit."

"Don't act so high and mighty because you've got your mouth all over these fuckers' cocks. Is that why they like you better?"

"Fuck you."

"No, I don't think Drake would've done it," Marcellas chimed in with his opinion, creating an open debate. "He's not a killer."

"You don't think so?" Jackie asked.

"Definitely not. Look at those eyes. If it had gotten down to the last shot and it was Drake's turn, I think he would've shot himself even with the knowledge that he was definitely gonna die."

Rashaad agreed. "Yeah, he's got that whole angsty, suicidal teenager thing going on. And he used to come in with all those bruises. He's definitely a taker." The man brushed Drake's hair out of his eyes. "Did daddy dearest get a little too mad when his favorite team lost the football game and take it out on his precious son?"

Drake became even angrier. He wanted to bite the man's fucking fingers off, but he knew that he had to keep his cool. They were the ones with the guns. His fists clenched so tightly that his fingernails tore through his skin. He breathed heavily through his nostrils as an attempt to calm himself, but Rashaad had already seen that he was getting to him.

The young man's body turned when he was punched. He managed to catch himself by placing his palms on the floor. Blood poured from his lips like a river. Drake hated the taste. God, that familiar taste...

"Answer me, you fuck!" Rashaad yelled.

"No," he lied. Drake spat onto the concrete, then pressed his fingers against his lip to see just how much blood was on there. _Shit_ , he thought to himself when he looked at the red liquid smeared on his hand. "Fuck."

"You fucking liar. I can see it in your eyes. That fucker definitely touched you inappropriately at least once in your life."

Drake could feel tears rising to the surface again, and he knew that they could see them, too.

Rashaad smiled. "Admit it," he antagonized.

"Fuck off," the boy dared.

"What did your dad do to you? Huh?" Rashaad teased. "Tell us all why you've been staying with your high school teacher."

Jesus, how did they know. How often were they watching him? This was so humiliating. They were just trying to embarrass him - trying to make him feel like shit. They were succeeding.

"TELL US!" the man exploded, causing Drake, and even Sammie, to flinch at his monstrous voice.

Drake opened his mouth to speak, and his breath shook audibly as he exhaled. He hesitantly spoke at a quiet volume. "My dad's dead," he said. _Please, don't Google it. Please, don't Google it. Please, don't Google it._

"You're full of shit," Marcellas accused. "Google it," he instructed Rashaad. "What's his name?"

Drake didn't speak. It occurred to him at this moment that being on his knees for so long was causing his legs and back to ache.

"What's his fucking name?!" Marcellas gave him a heavy slap across the cheek. Since he'd backhanded the boy, his rings cut open Drake's skin.

Drake gave in as he comforted his newest wound by placing his warm hand on the stinging skin. "Martin."

Marcellas snapped towards his right hand man. "Martin Parker. Look it up."

Drake hung his head, then spat again as more blood drowned his tongue. He looked to his left. Sammie wasn't looking so hot either. In fact, Drake just noticed that the crotch of his jeans were covered in urine. Even though this guy had tried to kill him minutes ago, he couldn't stay mad at him. He just wanted to go home to his kids. Drake could understand that.

"How much do you owe?" the boy asked quietly.

"Three grand." Sammie's voice was shaky. "You?"

"Five."

Suddenly, they both knew which one would make it out of there alive. Drake's heart sank.

Sammie couldn't hide the relief he felt, and it made him feel a little guilty. "I'm sorry about shooting at you."

"It's okay. You've got kids."

"Do you have any kids?"

Drake didn't know why he'd said it, and his answer had honestly taken him by surprise. "Yeah." He found himself regretting everything he'd ever said to Mindy. Although he'd denied his daughter several times, he was now upset with the fact that he'd never get to meet her. "I mean, not yet. She isn't due for a couple more weeks." He sniffled as he thought about what she'd be like when she was older and what she would think of his absence.

"Holy shit," Rashaad said as he stared at his phone screen.

"What?" Marcellas looked at him curiously.

"The puppy murdered his own father."

A smile crept up onto the leader's face, then there was a laugh. "What? No way."

"Says it right here. I mean, it doesn't have Drake's name. But his dad only has one son, right?" Rashaad looked at the boy for confirmation. "This fucker stabbed him. Stabbed his own father. I was right about the physical and sexual abuse, too," he said proudly.

Marcellas took the phone from him and skimmed over the nosy news article. "Well, I'll be damned. You're not as innocent as I thought."

"He tried to kill me," Drake explained. "He stabbed me first. Multiple times."

"I'm changing my vote. Drake definitely would've shot Sammie if he would've thought of it first," Marcellas said. "When it comes down to it, he's willing to do anything to save his own life."

"What about you Sammie?" Rashaad said. "Ever killed anyone?"

"No," the man answered with a trembling voice. "N-never."

"Come on. You can tell us."

"I'm telling the truth."

"So Drake would've been your first?" Rashaad shrugged and looked over at his leader. "I wouldn't mind seeing that. I️ would enjoy watching him pop his murder cherry."

"You know what?" said Marcellas. "I'm actually gonna leave it up to fate."

Drake's heart jumped out of his chest when the man pulled out his Glock. Marcellas took a couple steps until he was behind the two guys who were on their knees. He held out his weapon. _This is it. This is actually it this time. This isn't a drill. This isn't a false alarm. This is it._ And what was Drake thinking about just moments before a bullet was going to render his brain useless? This time: Meelah, and what he would say to her when he finally sees her face-to-face again...

"Eenie, meenie, miney, mo. Catch a tiger by his toe."

...the dozens of I'm sorry's...

"If he hollers, let him go."

...a hundred I love you's...

"My mother told me to pick the very best one-"

...thousands of kisses...

"-and you...are...not..."

Drake felt the gun push against the back of his head. He squeezed his eyes closed, but tears still managed to escape. He was shaking. Holy shit, he was shaking. He couldn't stop himself from letting go of a couple sobs, but he quickly tightened his jaw and bowed his head. _This...is..._

"...it."

The _click_ of the gun made him jump out of his skin just as much as it would've had it made a louder sound. He choked on his sobs when he realized that he was still alive.

"Shit. I had the fucking safety on," Marcellas said with irritation. After he fixed the issue, he held his arm out straight again, the barrel of the gun shoving the boy's head even further forward.

"Fuck," Drake whispered in a crackly, high-pitched voiced. He turned his head slightly, tensed his shoulders, tightened his fists, clenched his teeth, and closed his eyes.

"Well, the surprise is kinda ruined now that he knows it's him," Rashaad said.

Marcellas dropped his arm to his side. Drake was visibly relieved, but he kept his head low to avoid pissing anyone off.

Drake had spent months resenting the existence of a safety switch on guns. That stupid fucking safety switch was the reason that his life was so shit today. On New Years, when his father had tried to kill him, Drake had foolishly had the safety on, which had ultimately led to Martin's death. If he would've thought to turn it off, then a bullet would've went through his dad's leg like expected. Martin would've been stopped in his tracks. The young man wouldn't have hit an artery, and his father wouldn't had bled out so quickly. Drake could've phoned for help and both could've been alive today. It was ironic that the same thing that had killed his father was the reason that he was still alive right now.

"Alright, I got it," Marcellas said after pacing menacingly in front of the two. "To make it more interesting, we're gonna do a _Battle Royale_ type of thing. A fight to the death. Last one left alive-" He shrugged. "...wins."

Drake glared up towards the man, his mouth and cheek still bleeding. Marcellas paid him no attention as he brought up the idea of a pool and had Rashaad write down everyone's bets.

"My money's on Sammie," Tyrese said.

Since they were all distracted, Drake looked over at his future opponent. "We don't have to do this."

"What do you mean? Of course we do."

"If we both choose not to participate, then-"

"Then they'll choose who to shoot. Or kill us both."

" _If_ that's even what they do. And at least it'll be faster with a gun. And they'll probably kill me anyway, so you'll go home with a clear conscious knowing that you didn't become a murderer overnight. I mean, listen to them. They're all putting money on you. They already like you better. They think you'll win."

"Because I will," Sammie said. "I can't not fight for a chance when the opportunity's given to me. I don't know you. I'm not risking my life to save you."

"Please, just think about-" The young man hissed when a fistful of his hair was grabbed.

"Drake," Marcellas said in a casual yet spine-chilling way, "what cha doin'?"

He squeezed his eyes closed at the pain in his scalp.

"You're not being a bad influence, are you? You're not trying to convince Sammie to undermine my authority?"

Drake clenched his teeth together when his hair was snatched higher. "No, sir." He knew he was caught red-handed, so he knew he had to do some ass-kissing. If he used his manners, that would cancel out his lie, right?

Sammie kept his head low and avoided meeting the man's eyes. However, Marcellas forced him to join the conversation.

"Sammie, what did Drake say to you?"

Drake prayed that he'd keep his mouth shut, and to his surprise, he actually did. He honestly didn't expect it, but he kind of owed it to him after the murder attempt. The young man was shoved forwards onto his stomach, then Marcellas gripped Sammie's chin and forced him to meet his terrifying stare.

"I wasn't talking to hear myself speak."

To Drake's dismay, he heard Sammie repeat everything he had just said. He was in a lot of trouble. When Marcellas' rage-filled eyes turned to him, he pathetically attempted to do some damage control. "Look, I was scared, alright? I don't wanna die like this." He could see that Marcellas understood.

To further prove this, the man kindly said, "I hear you."

Drake felt relief all over his body. Marcellas wasn't all bad. In fact, he could be pretty-

"Unfortunately, I've got a reputation to keep, and I can't let you disrespect me in front of my crew." He snapped his fingers, rushing one of his minions although he hadn't even given orders yet. "Tie him up." He motioned towards Drake.

The young man knew that begging wouldn't have any effect on him, so he said nothing when Abdul snatched his arms back and tied his wrists together with a rope. He tugged his knot tight to make sure that it was secure. It was actually somewhat more painful than Drake had expected, but he kept his mouth shut.

Marcellas then moved towards him again, this time carrying a blindfold. He roughly wrapped it around Drake's head to block his vision. "The fight's still on. Because Drake is so against participating, Sammie, you'll get a two-minute head start. When that time is up, we'll release Drake and see if he's changed his stance on fighting." He yanked the two ends of the cloth together, then made sure it covered the boy's eyes.

"What are the rules?" Sammie asked.

"This isn't _Fight Club_. There are no rules. You do what you have to do to stay alive. The clock starts..." He glanced at the old clock hanging on the wall so that he could keep up with when Sammie's extra two minutes were up. "...now."

Drake's heart was pounding in his chest. Although he knew that it was hopeless, he attempted to wiggle his arms out of the rope. His wrists, which were already pink and slightly raw from the cuffs he had been in earlier, only got worse. However, he couldn't get his hands free. It wasn't long before he received his first punch to the cheek, which made him fall onto his side. He had no time to recover before Sammie's foot collided with his chin, knocking his head back. Blood sprayed from his mouth. Sammie wound his foot back and gave him another swift kick to the head, leaving Drake on his other side. The young man couldn't do anything to block the blows. He tensed his shoulders and lifted them as high as they would go, but that did nothing to protect him as his opponent kicked the same spot on his back over and over and over again.

"STOP!" Drake screeched tearfully. "SAMMIE, PLEASE!"

And Sammie did. He was determined to win, but Drake couldn't fight back right now. He didn't have to go about it in an unnecessary way. Instead, he forced the boy onto his back and got on top of him. Both of their weight together put extreme pressure on Drake's shoulders and arms, which he was forced to lay on top of. However, he could hardly focus on that when he felt a pair of hands wrap around his throat, halting much of the oxygen from getting to his lungs. It was clear that Drake was crying. The cloth over his eyes was damp.

"Huuuh! Gkkk!" Drake's mouth was wide open as he tried to suck in some sort of air supply. Noises left his lips. "Uuugh!"

"Damn, Drake really didn't have a chance," Rashaad said to Marcellas, who was standing next to him.

"I wouldn't be so quick to give up on him," Marcellas said, his eyes glued to the scene in front of him.

He and Abdul were the only two who had bet that Drake would pull out a win, and Abdul only did it because he had the hots for him. Rashaad, Tyrese, Jackie, and the other guy, who's name was Rodrick, were all rooting for Sammie.

Drake was clearly panicking. Sammie could see the vein in the boy's forehead. It was so sharp that it looked as though it would pop right through his skin. He was grateful for the blindfold that covered his opponent's eyes. There was no way he could've done this if he had to stare down at them and see the pleading desperation in them. The color of his skin was leaving him. God, how long was this going to take? Sammie was only doing what he had to do to survive. Despite his lack of guilt, he hated what Drake was forced to go through. He knew that the boy was suffering and wished that he could make it all go by faster for him. As an attempt to do this, he squeezed his neck with all of his might. Suddenly, the sounds coming from Drake's throat ceased.

Drake could feel his head exploding. He stomped his shoes against the cold concrete floor. Since he couldn't speak or move, this was his only form of protesting and begging for help.

"Sixty seconds!" Marcellas announced after glancing at the clock. "Hang in there, Drake."

There was no god damn way he was going to be able to endure this for another fucking minute. He could feel himself growing weak. Even with the blindfold on, he could tell his mind was slipping further and further into darkness. He had to do something.

Biting his fingers off was out of the question. Sammie's hands were way too far from his mouth. If the fucker wasn't sitting on his stomach (making it all the more impossible for him to take in a huge breath of air), then Drake would knee him in the groin. However, he couldn't reach his knee that high. But maybe...

Drake lifted his leg and slammed the heel of his shoe against Sammie's shoulder blade. Since it was so unexpected, the man yelped, but he kept his firm hold on Drake's neck. Again, Drake kicked. Then again. Again. Again. Swiftly forcing his leg in such an awkward direction so many times was causing his muscles to cramp up, but despite the severe charley horse, he kept at it. This time, he managed to hit the back of his head. When he saw that he was flexible enough to do that, he lifted his leg and placed it in front of Sammie this time, then pushed his head back with his foot. Finally, the man had to let go. Drake gave him a kick to the face to keep him distracted, then he quickly rolled over and onto his knees with his back facing his opponent. He took in the deepest breath he had ever taken in his life.

"Get me out!" His voice was hoarse. He erupted into a coughing fit. He tugged at his wrists again.

"Thirty more seconds," Marcellas informed. He looked over at Rashaad, who had removed his belt and was forcing it into Sammie's hand.

"Beat his ass!"

"You cheating bastard!" But Marcellas had a grin on his face.

"You said no rules, right?" He smirked.

Drake was still trying to catch his breath when Sammie got on top of his back and wrapped the belt around his throat. Again, the young man felt himself being strangled. Amongst the cheers that Sammie was receiving, Drake could hear Marcellas yelling at him.

"Get up! Fucking get up, you little shit!"

On the contrary, Sammie's weight forced Drake to fall onto his stomach. He had no leverage this way. Again, he was struggling just to breathe, but he didn't see a way out of it this time since he wasn't on his back like before. That is, until he felt something in his hand. Moments later, Sammie let out a scream.

"What the fuck is happening?" Jackie said.

"He's got him by the fucking balls!" Tyrese said from his better perspective.

"They're in the middle of a fight, and Drake's trying to cop a feel," Abdul said.

"You jealous?" Rashaad teased.

"Fuck you." But he was grinning.

"That's my boy!" Marcellas encouraged his fighter.

Drake and Sammie were at a standstill. It was all about who would cave first. Caving for Drake meant running out of air and dying, so technically, everything depended on how much pain Sammie could tolerate. Drake squeezed tighter, and thankfully, Sammie let go of the belt and pulled away from him. The young man gasped for air.

Marcellas checked the clock once more, then pulled out his knife. He went over to Drake and sliced through the rope on his wrists. Finally, he was free. The boy pulled the blindfold off and grabbed his neck as if that would help him breathe better. His throat was on fire.

"Drake, pay attention!" Marcellas warned.

The boy turned around just in time to see Sammie, now pretty pissed, swing a chair right at his face. Blood spewed from his lips like a fountain as he fell onto his side. Everything was so blurry. The only sounds he could hear were the cheers and screams from the audience, but even they were faint. Again, Sammie smashed the chair against him, and he let go of a scream. With the initial hit, everything returned to him: the dizzying chants from the sidelines, the smell of sweat and the urine in Sammie's underwear, the taste of copper on Drake's lips, the pain coursing through his body.

"Get up!" Marcellas screamed, causing Drake's skull to pound further.

Drake clutched his head, then screeched when he was hit again, harder this time.

"Oooh!" could be heard amongst the entertained watchers. They covered their mouths with the side of their fists or went wide-eyed and grinned as if something about the situation was comical.

Drake knew he had to try to get away. His entire body shook unsteadily as he started to force himself onto his hands and knees, but unfortunately, the chair collided with his spine, causing him to weakly fall onto his stomach. He shrieked again.

"God damn. He broke the chair," Tyrese said.

Now weaponless, Sammie got on top of Drake's bruised back. He gripped his hair, then violently shoved his face against the hard concrete floor. He did this several times. Drake's entire face was pouring with crimson. He tried to swing his elbows backwards and jab him in the ribs, but he couldn't quite get them. He reached his arm up and blindly clawed at Sammie's face, but this had no effect on him. The boy gave up and clutched his attacker's hand, silently begging him to stop. He tried pulling it away, but wasn't strong enough.

"Drake's such a faggot," Rashaad said. "Touching his balls. Holding his hand. If I didn't know better, I'd think this was a softcore porno."

"I wouldn't mind watching that," Abdul said.

Since Drake's most recent attempt at getting away hadn't worked, he knew he had to try something else. Sammie's leg was in his reach, and maybe, by some miracle, pinching it would be enough to make him stop bashing his face into the ground. As his hand made its way to its destination, however, he felt a sharp piece of wood that had come off of the broken chair. He gripped it in his shaky hand, then stabbed it into Sammie's leg. The man screamed, and Drake was able to squirm out from underneath him finally. The boy dragged himself across the floor, then pushed himself to his feet. His face contorted as he did so. He clutched his aching ribs with one hand as he leaned against the wall and hunched over. The other was under his face. He watched all of the blood pour off of his skin and land onto his palm.

"Please," he croaked out as an attempt to beg Marcellas to put a stop to the fight. However, after almost being strangled to death, it was hard to speak. He erupted into a coughing fit, which left him with more pain in his abdomen and more blood spraying from his lips.

Sammie clenched his teeth together and growled as he yanked the piece of wood from his leg. It hadn't gone in far, but it still hurt like hell. "You little fucking shit!"

Minutes ago, he had been sympathetic enough to make it fast for Drake, but the little runt wouldn't fucking die, so he no longer cared what he had to do and how much pain it would cause as long as he got the job done. He did sort of a stomp-limp towards his opponent and wound his fist back, but just when he punched, Drake dodged him and ran towards the audience. Rashaad roughly shoved him back into the "ring," and the young man fell onto the floor. He quickly pushed himself to his feet and backed away from a rapidly approaching Sammie, but he couldn't dodge the punch this time. Sammie had him against the wall and was hitting him repeatedly.

"Your boy's getting the shit beaten out of him," Rashaad said. "He's not even trying."

Marcellas looked on as Drake took the punches. He grew so weak that Sammie had to keep a firm hold on his shirt collar just to keep him on his feet. With one last hard punch, the young man was on the ground. Sammie then started kicking him. Marcellas shook his head with disgust. It was clear that he was pissed off.

"Time out!" he called, stepping onto the floor. He had to yanked Sammie away from the fallen boy because Sammie was too scared to give up his high ground and allow Drake any time to rest. Marcellas squatted down, then helped his fighter into a sitting position. "You alright?"

"Please." He coughed. "I don't wanna do this anymore."

"You're getting your ass kicked out there. Why aren't you hitting back? Is there some sort of inner psychological daddy issues going on? Did you never stand up to your father?"

Abdul walked over and joined the two when he saw Sammie's encouragers surround him and giving him a pep talk. "Drake, you're getting slaughtered out there."

"What's holding you back?" Marcellas asked.

"He's got kids."

"Is that what he told you? He's so full of shit. Sammie has nobody. No kids, no wife, no family. He's just a lonely junkie out on the cold streets. But didn't I overhear you say that you had a kid on the way?"

Drake's voice cracked. "Yeah." He felt a hole in his gut when Marcellas brought up his child although he wasn't sure why. He'd spent months denying his responsibility and distancing himself from the baby, so why was he all of a sudden wanting to see it so badly now?

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl."

Marcellas smiled. "Good. Maybe she won't follow your footsteps and get involved in bullshit like this when she's older then. Bet she'll be a fucking brat, though. She'll probably take after you that way."

Drake couldn't help but chuckle as tears dripped down his cheeks.

"Don't you wanna make it home to her and be there when she's born?"

That sounded really nice, but the price of that was too much for him. "She'll be better off if I wasn't there."

Marcellas was irritated that he'd wasted his time trying to be the nice guy when it didn't work. "Okay, look, I put a lot of money down on this fight. A lot. If I lose, I'm gonna be pissed, and if you're dead, I'm gonna have to take it out on the next best thing. Do you know who that is, Drake?"

The boy met his eyes fearfully.

"You remember when we broke into your parents' house and trashed the place? I know exactly which room is your little sister's. I could've hurt her had I wanted to. Don't think I didn't hear her crying when she was hiding under her bed while we ripped her posters off the wall and pulled all the drawers out of the dresser. Why do you think that was the only bed left unflipped? We knew that she was there, and I didn't want to bring her into it and scare her even more. She's just a kid. But if I lose this money, don't think that I'm gonna rest until I kill a Parker with my own bare hands."

Drake's face expressed pure horror as tears ran down his wet cheeks. He'd murdered his father already. Plus, he was responsible for Meelah's death. "But I don't wanna kill anymore people."

"Well, that's up to you. Just know that either way, the blood's on your hands. So either you end this motherfucking junkie and put him out of his misery, or goodie-two-shoes Drake wakes up tomorrow next to his sister in Heaven. It's your choice." Marcellas stood, then walked back over to the sidelines. "Enough of this shit. Let's get back to the fight."

Drake was surprised when Abdul helped him to his feet before taking his former spot. He was hurting all over. He looked over at Sammie and saw that they had wrapped Drake's blindfold over the wound on his leg. He wished he would've gotten the same support and encouragement.

"Let's go!" Marcellas rushed impatiently, for neither opponent was making a move.

Drake watched as Sammie bent over and picked up the belt that Rashaad had given him earlier. Since he had no weapon, he backed up when the man came closer.

"Don't be a fucking pussy, Drake!" Marcellas was still clearly irritated that he wasn't fighting.

Drake had accidentally backed himself into Jackie, but instead of being shoved forwards onto the floor, the man held him back.

"Come on, Sammie. Get a good shot in."

And he did. The belt buckle collided with Drake's cheek, causing the boy to fall onto the concrete. He quickly started crawling across the floor, wincing as the buckle hit his shoulder blade, then his hip. He was still close to their audience, so as he passed by Rashaad, then man kicked him, flipping him onto his back. Drake quickly pushed himself backwards with his elbows and heels as he stared up at his opponent.

"Sammie, catch!"

The man turned and caught the pocketknife that Rodrick had tossed to him. He dropped the belt, then pressed the button so that the long blade would pop out.

Drake panicked when he felt his back press against the corner where two walls met. He was trapped. "Don't," he begged, but this has no effect on him. "Fuck," his voice cracked as he tried to forced himself through the teeny-tiny crack in the wall.

This was the same exact position he'd been in with his father, only this time, he was going to get what he deserved. Maybe he was supposed to die that day. Maybe he had cheated death, and just like in that horror flick he had watched when he was younger although his mom had told him not to, Death was coming back for him. Ever since Martin had died, his life had been a complete shit-show. Maybe it would only get worse until he finally allowed Death to take what it wanted.

Drake heard Abdul say his name. He looked in that direction and saw a gun sliding across the floor towards him, the metal screeching against the concrete. Finally, someone was on his side. Someone actually wanted to see him live. This was his saving grace. Unfortunately, halfway across the "ring," it got caught on the belt that Sammie had dropped earlier. Drake started to push himself up, but he received a swift kick to the throat. This put him in shock. His eyes went wide and he fell against the corner again. He erupted into a coughing fit, for the air had been knocked out of him.

"Finish him!" Rashaad yelled.

Sammie jabbed the knife forwards at Drake's throat, but the boy's instincts kicked in, and he tried to grab the knife. When he did this, the blade stabbed right through the middle of his palm. Drake didn't even scream.

"Oh, that's sick!" Jackie's face twisted in disgust.

Drake's nostrils flared as he held the knife back. Sammie was shocked that the boy still had the sanity to continue resisting him. In fact, Sammie was actually losing. Drake pressed his back against the wall so that he could get onto his feet, then he kicked Sammie's kneecap. The man screamed and dropped like a ton of bricks. In his fall, the knife went with him and slipped further down Drake's palm until it was pulled out.

"Holy fuck!" Tyrese was in shock at the sudden change in Drake's demeanor.

Drake moved past his opponent, but was tripped when the man grabbed his ankle. He hit the hard floor with a _smack_ , then turned around just in time to see Sammie lift the knife. His foot involuntarily jerked and hit Sammie's wrist, which knocked the knife out of his hand and across the floor. The man cried out at the pain in his wrist. While he was distracted, Drake started to go towards the gun again. Unfortunately, Sammie grabbed his ankles and dragged him back. The younger of the two clawed at the floor, trying to dig his fingernails into the tiny cracks, but he couldn't gain much momentum. The next thing he knew, he could feel Sammie on top of his back, crawling over him so that he could reach Abdul's weapon first. He clenched his teeth and growled when he felt the man's knee stab into one of the many bruises along his spinal cord.

"Gaaahhh!"

It was then that Drake knew. There was no way that he could race Sammie to the gun at this point. The man was too far ahead. He had to accept his fate at this point. He had lost. These were his final moments. Maybe it'll be quick, and he wouldn't have to endure this misery for much longer. Maybe seconds from now, he'll be staring into Meelah's beautiful eyes again. Maybe he'll finally have the chance to beg his father for forgiveness. Maybe he'll even see his old cat Fonzie again, and maybe Fonzie can talk, and maybe Drake will apologize to him and Fonzie will actually understand what he's saying.

Drake turned his head towards Marcellas, praying that maybe he would call off the fight now that it was obvious who was going to win. He hoped that this was just a test to see who would outfight the other and nothing more. Now that they knew Drake was the weaker one, they could stop this whole thing and just tease him about it for the rest of his life. However, when he met Marcellas' eyes, he saw anger. It was terrifying that, in that glare alone, Drake knew that the man was telling him that Megan was done for. He was really going to kill her even after Drake was gone from this world. He couldn't let that happen.

Drake pushed himself up, but instead of going towards the gun and hoping to be the first to grab it, he moved towards the knife. He gripped it in his good hand, then limped towards Sammie, who had just reached the gun since he had crawled across the floor. Before he could get up, Drake kicked it out of his hand and across the floor. He roughly grabbed the man's arm and flipped him onto his back, then got on top of him and pressed the knife against his throat.

"Do it!" Marcellas yelled.

Sammie was crying. His lips trembled as he met Drake's eyes. "Don't. Please."

The young man was panting, and sweat dripped off of his face. He was so exhausted, and he was in so much pain that he just wanted to lay down and take a forty-eight hour nap.

"I'm begging you. Please."

"Slit his fucking throat already!" Marcellas urged.

Drake was crying, too. Everyone around him was so loud. Despite the bet and who they had placed money all, they were all cheering for him now. They didn't care who won. They just wanted to see someone die. No one was a winner. Either you die or you get branded a murderer. Drake had already been responsible for his father's death, and every single day, he always played it back in his head and thought of all the things he could've done differently. He couldn't think of any other choice that he could make in his current situation that would get him out alive, but he knew that, weeks from now, he would stay up at night obsessing over thoughts like, _"Why didn't I just do this? Everyone could've lived had I have just done that."_ No matter what happened to him, he couldn't go through that again.

"Please, don't. Please, please, don't."

Drake took in a nervous breath as he stood, then he chucked the knife to the side and stepped away from Sammie. "I'm not doing it."

Marcellas nodded with rage, then he looked at the man who was on the floor. "Sammie? You wanna take your free shot?"

Sammie looked over at the boy who had just saved his life. Drake hung his head and averted his eyes. He couldn't let himself interfere with the man's choice. If he convinced him to take a stand with him and refuse to play their game any further and something happened to him, that would still be blood on Drake's hands. He could only hope that Sammie would make that choice himself. However, he wouldn't blame Sammie if he still decided to kill him. Like Sammie had said earlier, they didn't know each other after all.

Sammie's voice came out softly and shakily. "No."

This surprised Drake. In fact, everyone seemed taken aback by his choice.

"Alright then," Marcellas said. "I guess you two have forced my hand."

Marcellas motioned towards the floor. Abdul and Rashaad forced the two boys onto their knees, Abdul picking up his gun along the way. Here they were once again with their back to the shooter. Maybe this time Marcellas won't forget about the safety and come up with some other ridiculous idea.

"We'll put it to a vote. Whoever you guys think put up the best fight gets to live. Those in favor of Sammie?"

Drake felt his heart beating out of his chest. He tried to guess who the six eligible voters in this room would choose. Maybe he had Abdul's vote. Rashaad hated him, though. Jackie - probably not. This Rodrick guy - Drake didn't really know him that well, so his vote could go either way and was actually probably going to be the only vote that was based on the fight and not biased by pre-determined favoritism. In which case, it would be in Sammie's favor.

"And those in favor for Drake?"

Tyrese seemed like a pretty chill guy. Despite tonight being the longest he'd been around the man, he came off as the "funny guy" of the group. If Drake had to pick who he felt most comfortable around, Tyrese would be his choice. He hoped the man felt the same way when it came to choosing between him and Sammie.

And that leaves Marcellas, who was probably super duper pissed about how his fight had turned out. No surprised where his vote was going. _I'm so fucked._

 _Bang!_

Drake screamed and lifted his hands as if they would protect him. His ears were ringing again. He turned his head and looked to his left. It seemed to happen in slow motion: the way Sammie's lifeless body fell forwards, the way his head smashed against the concrete, the way the blood poured out of the back of his head and created a puddle right in front of Drake's lap. Drake was screaming now. It was like someone else had taken over his body and was making the most terrifying, ear-piercing screeches - like in a horror movie when a priest attempts an exorcism and the demon just won't let go. He could hardly see anything, for he was crying so hard that his eyes were blurry. But he'd seen it. For a split second, he had seen it, and he'd never be able to get that image out of his head.

"No, no, no," he choked. "Oh-ho-ho my God." In a bout of panic, Drake quickly clamped his hand down over the shattered skull as if Sammie was still savable. "Don't do this. Please, don't do this," he squeaked. His hand was covered with blood in seconds. "Oh my God. Oh my God." He fanned himself so that he could feel air hitting his lips. He found it hard to breathe. His throat was tightening up, and he was beginning to hyperventilate.

"You see that?" Marcellas said.

Drake clutched his own throat. It felt like old times when Martin would grab his neck and strangle him, only this time, there was no Martin.

"You see that?!" The man grabbed Drake's hair and shoved him forwards until the tip of his nose was touching the bullet wound.

Drake tried to pull away. He gripped Marcellas' wrist, begging to be let go.

"This is gonna be you if you don't get my fucking money! And don't think I've forgotten where your precious family lives. I'll take you there and kill every single one of them right in front of you."

"Please." Drake broke down. "Please, please, please, don't."

Marcellas roughly shoved his head away. "Then you better not piss me off anymore than you already have."

"Okay." His voice was almost silent as he held up his arms to block his head from a possible blow. "Okay."

"Get up." Marcellas said.

"We're moving the body now?" Abdul asked.

"Yeah." Marcellas looked at Drake, who seemed unsteady on his feet. "You know what? _You_ drag him to the car."

"W-what?"

The man immediately pulled out his gun and shoved it in Drake's face. The boy screamed when his hair was grabbed, keeping him from pulling away.

"Okay. Okay. Okay," he said, holding his hands up in front of his chest.

"You better stop questioning me, boy, if you wanna fucking make it through this night alive!"

"Okay. Okay. Okay." Drake was shoved towards the body, just barely able to stay on his feet. He flipped him over so that he wouldn't have to see the hole in his brain, but looking at his face wasn't any better. Doing this reminded him of having to move his father's body away from the door with all of his broken bones just so that he could get help. Tonight was giving him a lot of triggering memories about that day.

"HURRY UP!" Marcellas yelled from the staircase. "Before his kids realize he never came home last night and call the police to report him missing."

"What?" Drake heart dropped.

Marcellas only grinned and disappeared upstairs.

Sammie really did have kids all along. Marcellas just thought it would be easier for Drake to kill him if he'd lied to him. They're going to wake up in the morning and find themselves fatherless, and Drake knew that feeling well. He tried to push the thought from his mind, though, so that he could just get through this fucking night in one piece.

Drake quickly grabbed the limp body under the arms and started dragging him backwards. Getting up the stairs was tricky, but he mustered up his strength and made it. He was out of breath and his face was pouring with sweat, but he had to keep going. When he finally made it to the car that the crew was standing around, he dropped the corpse with a huff and massaged his aching back.

Jackie pulled a keychain out of his pocket and unlocked his trunk. He opened the hood. "Put him in."

Again, Drake lifted him, trying hard to be respectful and not bang his head against anything or cram his limbs in like a jacket that won't fit. This all felt so surreal. He was actually taking part in covering up a murder. Sammie the father was dead. Sammie the father was being dragged across the dirt. Sammie the father was being stuffed into a trunk and transported to someplace better to just dump him. Sammie the father no longer existed, and pretty soon, Drake the almost father would no longer exist as well. Drake the almost father would be dead, dragged across the dirt, and stuffed into a trunk and transported to someplace better to dump his body. Drake the almost father would never become Drake the father.

"Get in," Jackie demanded.

"What?"

"Get. In."

"Can't I just sit up front with the bag over my head?" Drake didn't want to be in such a dark, confined space with a dead body. He noticed Marcellas glaring at him and knew that he had to give in, so he did. He didn't even have time to find a comfortable position on the bloody protective plastic cover before the hood was closed on top of him, leaving him in complete darkness.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I had this chapter ready so long ago, but then I decided to add a whole extra part, and that's why it's so late. Also, I'm just lazy and hate editing. I got more reviews last chapter than I have been getting, so I take it you guys want the sequel and don't want me to kill off Drake. ;) So thanks Sleeping Owl (as always), Michael J. O'Malley (I'm glad you like it so much), Guest who was heartbroken (I feel you), Guest who talked about my commitment to the plot lines (I appreciate the comment because I didn't realize I did that, but now I do), and Guest who has love/hate feelings for both Martin and Tad (bruh, me, too). I would really, really, really, reaaaally like it if you guys and even more people would continue giving me thoughts and support. This one's a bit harder to write than the first one. Charlie Freak was more close to home when I was just able to write about normal teen issues and repetitive drug use. This one got kinda out of control with things that I've never experienced first-hand, so I was constantly worried about how realistic it sounded and if the characters were even coming off the way they were when I first started this series. Anyway, blah, blah, blah. Please, please, please review. You guys rock.**


	19. The Never-ending Night(mare) Part 2

"But seriously? Drake, though?" Rashaad said incredulously.

After listening to them carrying on for the past thirty minutes about the same subject, it became apparent that Rashaad had been Sammie's only vote. Drake couldn't say he wasn't surprised either, though. He'd thought that he was for sure a goner.

"The knife went through his fucking hand!" Tyrese said for the twentieth time. "And he didn't bat a fucking eye! Total badass!" Clearly this was the sole reason he had voted to keep Drake alive.

Abdul had torn apart a spare shirt that had been left in Marcellas' SUV so that he could wrap it around Drake's left hand like a make-shift bandage. It hurt like hell, especially since he had been digging a fucking hole for the past couple hours now. His fingers were cramped up and burning.

"But he didn't even fight," Rashaad argued.

"Which is why it was so badass," Tyrese said. "He didn't throw a single punch and still would've won if he would've actually went through with slitting Sammie's throat."

"But he pussied out. Sammie at least tried. The only reason he didn't kill Drake at the very end was because he felt like he owed him something for not taking his shot."

"Sammie had his chance and blew it," Jackie said.

"Right," Abdul agreed. "Drake was bound and blindfolded for two whole minutes. That was plenty of time to kill someone with your bare hands."

"It was the beginning of the fight. I'm sure he just didn't wanna win the easy way and would feel better killing someone who could actually stand up for himself."

"No, he definitely tried and just somehow beyond my understanding managed to fuck it up," Marcellas said as he stepped out of the toasty car and joined the group. He let go of his breath and could see it in front of himself.

Drake panted for breath as he tossed the shovel out of the hole. He mustered up his strength and lifted himself out of the waist-deep space as sweat poured from his face. He exhaustedly laid his back against the dirt with his feet hanging over the edge, his stomach rising up high and then shrinking again and again. He lifted his hands and examined the new blisters on his skin.

"Did I say you could fucking rest?" Rashaad snatched him up to his feet. "Get up." However, he shoved him down.

"Oof!" Drake felt himself being picked up, then thrown again. He could tell by the direction that he was being guided that he was supposed to go back to the car, so he pushed himself onto his knees and started crawling that way. Maybe he wouldn't get tossed around anymore if they saw that he was taking the initiative. Of course, he was wrong. This time when he was shoved along, his head rammed right into the metal exterior of the vehicle.

"Hey! Watch the fucking car, you prick!" Jackie kicked him.

"Aahh!"

Drake just wanted this horrible night to end. He had no idea where on earth he was. He was surrounded by trees in every direction, and he couldn't see too far past them, for the sky was black. The only source of light was the blinding beams from the headlights that had been pointed towards him as he dug the hole.

It had been hours since he'd first begun working on the hole. "Hole." Why did he keep referring to it as that? It was unmistakeable a grave.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!" Rashaad suddenly dragged him to his feet by his hair-

"Ahh!"

-then guided him towards the back of the car and rudely shoved him at the open trunk.

"Ah!"

Drake caught himself, then looked down at the corpse. Seeing it again made him sick. He felt his stomach churn. He'd already vomited when he'd been locked inside the trunk with the dead body. Jackie had been pissed because he had somehow managed to miss the plastic protective covering. Thanks to him, Drake had several new bruises on his back. The second the boy took a breath in, the putrid smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils. He gagged and started to push himself away, but Rashaad grabbed his neck and shoved his head against the still chest of what used to be Sammie.

"I swear to God this is gonna be you if you don't STOP WASTING MY FUCKING TIME!"

 _Oh, God. It's coming up again._ Thankfully, he was let go. Drake turned away from the trunk as quickly as he could so that he wouldn't get another beating from Jackie, then vomit violently sprayed from his lips. His nose and throat was on fire. No matter what, he couldn't get that horrid stench out of his nostrils. Every time he took in a deep breath of air, he could smell it. Even when he was finished puking, he continued to gag, and Rashaad's patience was wearing thin. He snatched Drake, then roughly forced him into the trunk.

"No, no, no! Don't!" Once again, Drake was in darkness. "Let me out!" He yelled, banging his fists against the roof.

"Change of plans."

Drake could still hear Rashaad's muffled voice as the man spoke to his crew.

"We're just gonna dump the car in a lake. By the time anyone finds it, they'll be long gone, and there won't be any prints. I can't put up with this anymore. Let him die and spend an eternity in hell with his vengeful father for all I give a shit."

They were going to let him drown. Drake was going to drown in a tiny trunk next to a dead body. Now he was really starting to panic.

"Let me out! Please, let me out! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sor-" He gagged. He hadn't thought that it would be possible, but the smell was worse now that he was trapped in such a confined space with it. "Oh, God!" Gag. "Marcellas!" Out of everyone in this crew, he'd learned that this man was the most forgiving. "Marcellas, tell them!" Gag.

Moments later, the car was cranked, and Drake could feel it start to move.

"No, no, no. God, no!" He was in tears in a matter of seconds. "Heeelp!" he screeched. "Somebody, please! Heeeeelp!" He was so terrified that his pleads for a savior just turned into him full-on screaming incoherent words.

Sammie had gotten the easy way out. Drake was jealous. His wouldn't be so quick. Martin had tried drowning him before. It was awful and painful, and it felt like a lifetime of gasping for air. He probably won't even make it to the lake. He was already starting to hyperventilate again. This was like being locked inside of Martin's closet, but worse. This time, there was a dead body next to him, and this time, death was surely coming for him.

Or so he'd thought. The car came to a stop, and right after, Drake could no longer feel the vibration coming from the engine. Moments later, he could hear the key turning, and within seconds, the trunk opened. The young man was yanked out and shoved onto the ground. He was still gagging and coughing and crying, but he gazed up at Rashaad with a look of appreciation, his entire body shaking.

Rashaad aggressively clapped his hands. "GET TO FUCKING WORK!"

Drake pushed himself to his feet immediately, then moved back over to the trunk. He folded the large, clear plastic over Sammie's body, rolling him up into one long, stinky, bloody burrito. Apparently, Jackie always had plastic coating the trunk of his car for moments such as these. He was always prepared to have bloodied corpses thrown into the back of his trunk. This fact absolutely terrified Drake.

The young man wrapped his arms around Sammie's feet and tugged the body out of the trunk. He felt horrible when Sammie's head smashed against the rocks. He had tried to be gentle, not that it really mattered. It was just the respectful thing to do, and the roles could've been switched just as easily. Drake could've been the one who was being dragged across the dirt right now, but he wasn't. It felt like so many people wanted to kill him. So many people wished Drake dead. On top of that, he was always participating in risky, pill-taking behavior. It was a wonder that he was still alive at this point. God must really be looking out for him for some reason.

"HURRY UP!" Rashaad rushed.

Drake obeyed. He found that the car had been moved closer to the grave, so he didn't have far to go. He laid the body down by the hole, then moved to Sammie's side. He felt terrible as he shoved the corpse, which hit the bottom of the grave with a thump. However, his fear outweighed his guilt, so he pushed that thought from his mind.

Drake was rudely instructed to fill in the hole with dirt, so he quickly followed orders.

"And I swear to God, if you piss me off one more time, you're gonna dig another hole and we're gonna bury your pathetic ass alive," Rashaad threatened. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir." Drake was so tired that he could hardly catch his breath, but he didn't once stop until the job was done. His body was aching. His fingers were screaming with pain. He needed a good, long nap. Unfortunately, the night was still young.

"Get in the trunk."

Drake didn't argue this time, but as he was getting in, he said, "Please, don't drown me in the lake." He received no response as the lid was slammed shut, once again locking him inside like a tiny, fragile mouse in a cage.

* * *

"Get out."

Drake didn't have to be told twice. After he climbed out of the trunk, he looked around. He was surprised to find that he actually knew where he was. They had brought him to the abandoned park right outside his father's neighborhood. _What is happening?_

Marcellas saw his confusion. "You've got five hours to get my money."

"How am I supposed to find five grand in that time?"

"Five grand? No, you now owe me nine thousand."

"What the fuck?! Where did the other four grand come from?!" _Oh, I'm so fucked. I'm so fucking fucked._

"I still want the money Sammie owed me. I did you a favor and kept you alive, so you're gonna do me a favor and pay off his debt."

"That's only eight. What about the extra thousand?"

"When your boy Ricardo came and vouched for you, I told him to tell you that I'd be charging interest."

"Jesus Christ. There's no way I'd ever be able to come up with that much in just a few hours."

"Which is why we brought you here. There's a gas station across the street. I'm sure you're familiar with it. Your dad lived right down the road."

"Yeah?" Drake didn't understand. Why did any of this matter?

Marcellas nodded towards Rashaad, who then pulled a gun out of the inside of his jacket. He held it out to Drake, and suddenly, it all made sense. They wanted him to rob Ahmed's place.

"I can't." He took a step back, but was roughly grabbed by his arm and brought closer to the weapon.

"You will," Marcellas said, "if you want to live."

"It's just a small gas station outside a shitty neighborhood. He's not gonna have a lot of money in his register."

"You get him to open the safe. It'll knock out a good chunk of what you owe at least."

"He knows me. I will go to prison."

"Would you rather be dead?"

Drake sighed. _This is un-fucking-believable. Jesus Christ, I'm gonna die._ However, he reached out and took the gun anyway.

Marcellas nodded his approval, then placed his hand on Drake's shoulder. "Now listen to me. Put your hood up and make sure that there are no customers inside. You get the money and get out. Don't fuck around. Keep it under a minute, and then you get as far away from this place as you can. If you know you're about to get caught, drop the cash somewhere and call us with the location. Do not let the police get that money. And don't even think about trying to place the blame on me. I _will_ destroy you and everyone you've ever loved. You understand me?"

 _Don't start crying again. Don't start crying again. Don't start crying again._ "Can't you just wait outside? How am I supposed to run without getting caught? I can barely fucking walk as it is." He had no idea how he was still on his feet. After everything he had gone through today, it was a wonder that he could even move. Maybe after this night is over and the adrenaline wears off, he'll be bed-ridden for a while.

"Honestly, I feel like you're gonna do something to fuck this up, so I'm not about to let you get me arrested."

"How am I even supposed to carry the money?" Drake felt so ill-prepared. He didn't expect that this was something he'd ever be forced to do. Maybe if he brought up enough problems, they would bail on the plan and come up with something less insane.

"Jackie, get that bag out of the car."

The man obeyed. He opened the back door, then soon came back over to the group. He held the bag that had been over Drake's head earlier tonight. There was a blood stain on it from the wound on the back of his head, which was caused by when he had been knocked out.

Drake took the bag, but he couldn't think of anymore arguments. Marcellas didn't want to hear them anyway. He and his gang were already getting back into the car.

"Five hours," the man reminded. "So don't fuck around."

Drake watched as the headlights turned on. The vehicle made its way across the grass and back towards the street. Although he wasn't completely free, he felt relieved that they were leaving him alone for a while.

The young man followed the direction that the vehicle had gone in and crossed the park. He headed towards the gas station. Whether or not he was going to go along with their demands, he desperately needed to pee, and cleaning himself off wouldn't hurt either. He had blood all over him. He pulled his hood over his head. Maybe Ahmed wouldn't notice him. Yeah, right. The second he opened the door, the bell dinged, and this attracted the man's attention.

"Hey, Drake. How are - oh my, what happened?!"

"I'm fine." Drake avoided his eyes and went straight to the bathroom. He locked the door behind himself, then went over to the single toilet, unsecured his jeans, and relieved himself. Once that was done, he washed his hands, and as he did that, his eyes met the ones staring back at him in the mirror. Jesus, he looked rough. He had dried blood coating his skin under his nose and mouth, and there was a stream that began at his temple and trailed down his jaw and neck. One cheek had a bruise and the other had a cut, which had been caused by the ring on Marcellas' finger. Drake's ear lobe was bloody at the top tip from where the bullet had grazed him.

His eyes moved lower, and he saw that his shirt was covered with a mixture of his and Sammie's blood and a little bit of his own vomit. How on earth could he rob Ahmed this way? He will definitely get caught, and when the police find him covered in blood, not only will he go to prison for armed robbery, but he'll also be accused of Sammie's murder. He can't blame Marcellas even though it was his doing. If Marcellas landed a spot behind bars, he was going to be pissed, and Drake believed him when he'd said he'd send his goons after his family.

This was such a bad fucking plan! He could just bail and go to a different gas station where the cashier didn't know his name and face, but Drake didn't want to rob any gas station. He didn't think he had the balls.

Drake grabbed a paper towel and wet it. He carefully dabbed at his nose, his eyes involuntarily watering over at the pain. After fifteen minutes, he was cleaned up and looking sharp once again. Well, as sharp as can be. _Okay, so what are we doing?_ He took a breath, let it go, then looked at himself in the mirror again. _So here's what will happen if I go through with this. Pro: I'll have paid Marcellas off and saved myself and my family. Con: I'll go to prison for armed robbery and possibly murder. The only way to not spend the rest of my life sucking some guy's dick for protection is to kill Ahmed, which I can't do. I won't. It's not even an option. Oh, God, I won't fucking survive in prison. I'm too young. I'm gonna get shower-raped a thousand times and be some asshole's bitch. Fuck, fuck, fuck! There's gotta be another way! Goddamnit!_

 _What if I don't go through with this? What if I just leave? I could try running from them. No, that won't work. They'll go to my family. They're the next best thing. Fuck! Okay, what if I just tell them that I couldn't do it? What are the odds that they'd actually kill me? They'll definitely kill me. Marcellas didn't even hesitate to shoot Sammie. Marcellas could murder me and then go home and sleep and think nothing about it. "It's business." I'm so fucked! Oh, fuck!_

 _I_ can't _rob this place. Ahmed is so fucking sweet. He's given me free food. He never judged me. God, but if I don't, I'm gonna end up dead. Or what if they go after Mom or Megan or anyone? Is saving their lives worth twenty plus years of rape and rape and rape?_ Drake felt himself getting emotional. As the dam behind his eyes broke, he hung his head so that he wouldn't have to see his weak self crying.

 _God, how did this happen? How did I get here? All I wanted was a fresh start. All I wanted was to run away with Meelah - to get away from the drugs and my dad and the memories and the reminders. I was gonna get my life straight. We were gonna live normal lives. I killed her. I pushed her into using the can, and then she died and my life has been nothing but one big shit storm ever since. I probably deserve whatever happens to me in prison._ He let go of a couple sobs, then rested his hands on the sink and leaned forwards. _God, I don't wanna do this. Everyone's gonna think I'm the worst person. Well, they already think I'm the worst person, but adding this to the list would just devastate them. I'm already such an embarrassment._

 _Fuck it. At least they'll be alive._ Drake took in a breath, then lifted his head and looked at his reflection once more. His expression was much harder. His jaw was taut, his teeth clenched, and his eyes staring daggers. He straightened, then reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out the gun. If there was anything that he had learned from his father, it's to always check the safety. He made sure that it was on because he didn't want to accidentally shoot Ahmed. More blood on his hands was not something that he could handle.

 _This is it._

He zipped up the jacket to cover most of Sammie's blood. Just get the money, get it to Marcellas, and then everyone will be okay. He turned, grabbed the door handle, and pulled it open.

The next several seconds were a blur. Drake's adrenaline was pumping, and he was so terrified that somehow he couldn't remember what had happened after leaving the restroom. He found himself standing across from Ahmed with a gun pointing directly at his chest.

"But I don't understand," the man said.

Drake couldn't remember what either of them had spoken before this. "Just give me the fucking money, okay?!" His hands were shaking intensely. They were so sweaty that he worried that maybe the gun would slip right out of his hand. That was another fear to add to all the other ones running through his brain right now.

Ahmed had his hands up to his chest, and his voice expressed his confusion. "This is not you."

"I want the money from the safe." Drake was swaying nervously.

"You are a nice young man. When I first met you, you stuck up for me. You stand up for what is right. This is not right."

"Just give me the money." _Jesus, Drake, stop crying. You look like a bitch._ "Please," he said desperately.

Ahmed wouldn't budge. "Drake, everything is going to be okay. Put down the gun. You don't want to ruin your life like this."

Drake shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I have no choice." His eyes glistened with tears.

"You always have a choice."

"Just give me the money," he said at a more reasonable volume. "Don't make me do this."

Ahmed met his eyes and stared at him as if he could see right through him. How long has he been standing here? _Marcellas said sixty seconds. Has it been longer than that?_ Drake has to do something to speed this along.

"Ahmed, give me the fucking money! I'm not fucking around!" He stepped closer and pointed the gun at the man's face now.

"You won't shoot me," Ahmed challenged, and he sounded almost calm.

"I swear to God I will kill you." His couldn't get his voice to stop shaking. His hand, too, was shaking, so if the crying wasn't enough proof, now Ahmed knew just how scared he was.

"I don't believe you."

Drake was getting more and more nervous by the second. Ahmed was calling his bluff. What on earth could he do to convince him otherwise? He was running out of time. It would suck to go to prison for attempted armed robbery and not even get the money to pay off Marcellas.

The young man saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. He turned and looked at the door. Thankfully, it was just a car passing by. He was still in the clear. He was still-

 _Click!_

Drake turned his head back to the man and saw that he, too, was holding a gun now. Ahmed had cocked it, and now he was pointing it right at him. Drake had forgotten all about the weapon he had seen behind the counter before.

"Just put down the gun," the man said. "Let's talk about this."

"Please, just give me the money," Drake begged. He knew that his leverage was gone now that Ahmed had a weapon, too. "Please."

"If you leave right now, there will be no harm done. I won't get the police involved. You don't want to ruin your life over night." Ahmed's hand was much steadier than Drake's. "You're too young to throw your life away like this. You don't want to spend the rest of it behind bars. You have so much to live for."

A strangled sob left the boy's lips.

"What about your mother and your younger sister? Do you really want to disappoint them like this?"

"If I don't, he's gonna kill them," Drake said.

Finally, Ahmed was getting somewhere. He knew that Drake would never do this for his own selfishness. "Who?"

The boy kept his mouth closed.

"There's always another way. You may not see it, but there's a better way. You don't have to become this person." Ahmed took a step to his left, then another. Slowly, he was making his way out from behind the counter.

"Stop," Drake demanded. However, his voice didn't sound too convincing.

"You are a good person, Drake. I know what happened with your father. I know the kinds of things that he would do and say to you." Step. "Maybe he made you feel worthless. Maybe he told you that your life didn't matter." Step.

Drake's body was turning as the man moved around the counter. They both kept their guns pointed at one another.

"He lied. Your life matters. Your life is precious. You are a kind young man, but the world has not been kind to you. Don't let it drag you down." Step. "These guys who are making you do this - don't allow them to make you into this person. Stop allowing people to shape you the wrong way." Step. "You're much smarter than this." Now that he was directly in front of Drake, he cautiously reached out, then clutched the boy's gun.

To his relief, Drake let go. The young man hung his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He couldn't stop crying.

"It's okay. You're okay."

"I wasn't gonna shoot. The safety was on. I swear I wasn't going to."

Ahmed could see just how ashamed the boy was. "I believe you."

Drake rested his back against the counter and slid down until he was on his bottom. He hid his face behind his eyes as he sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

"I know." The man squatted down in front of him. "I forgive you."

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"You're still the same Drake. You just haven't been making the best choices lately. But you're still a good guy."

"I don't know what to do."

"You do what you think is right."

Drake wiped his eyes. "Please, don't call the cops on me. I swear it won't ever happen again."

"I won't. Just promise me that no one will get hurt tonight."

"I swear I won't do anything like this again."

"Come on. Why don't you lay down in the back office for a little bit. I'll make you some hot cocoa and a snack."

Drake wiped his eyes. God, Ahmed was so fucking good to him.

"Nah, I've gotta get going. I've gotta get his money." He pushed himself up out of the floor.

Ahmed followed his lead. "How do you plan on doing that?"

"I'll have to ask my step-dad. It's the only thing left."

* * *

On the contrary, Drake had one more idea up his sleeve. It was one that he despised, possibly even more than stealing from Ahmed, but this was his only hope.

Drake blew air into his frozen hands, then bounced on his feet and wrapped his trembling fingers under his pits. He turned and glanced around, but the parking lot seemed pretty uneventful. He turned back to the stranger in front of him and watched him fingering through a couple bills in his wallet. After a moment, the man pulled them out. Drake took them, slipped them into his back pocket, then followed the man up the two tall steps and into his tractor. He closed the door behind him, relishing in the sudden warmth. It smelled like coffee and spam, and although it made him sick to his stomach, he took in a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"Are you coming or what?"

Drake turned and saw that the stranger was sitting on the bed in the back. He already had his pants and underwear pushed down to his knees, and his junk was hanging out with no shame. Drake scooted in between the two front seats, then got onto his knees in front of the man. The truck driver flinched when Drake's cold fingers wrapped around his sensitive member. The young man leaned in and engulfed it in between his lips, giving it some warmth.

After a minute, the man's penis was fully erect. Drake's head moved back and forth. His hand tugged at the same speed as his mouth. He moved his tongue side to side over the frenulum, then glanced upwards to make sure that the man was getting his money's worth. He was horrified when he met eyes with him. The receiver smirked down at him, and Drake's stomach churned. It was then, in the dim lighting, that he started noticing his imperfections: the yellow teeth - one of them missing - the patches of scruff on his chin, the crooked nose, the gray shining through the few places on his head that weren't balding, the overlap of fat hanging from his belly and jiggling every time Drake moved, the excessive amount of hair that covered his lower regions... Drake averted his eyes, feeling even sicker than before. _How much longer is this gonna take?_

"Play with my balls."

Drake lifted his free hand and did as he was told. He rolled them around in his hand and heard the man moan.

"That's right. Keep doing that."

Two minutes later, without warning, the man exploded inside of Drake's mouth. Drake pulled away, and as the stranger panted for air with sweat pouring down his face, the young man found a roll of toilet paper nearby. He pulled off a bit and spat the semen into it.

The driver pulled up his pants when he saw that Drake had pushed himself to his feet. "I wish I could pack you up and take you with me."

To be kind, Drake offered a timid smile. He made his way to the front of the truck, opened the door, then hopped out.

"I'm down this way the first and third Fridays of each month. Don't be a stranger." He winked, then closed the door behind the boy.

"Drake?"

Drake turned and saw a guy who looked to be the same age as himself hopping out of an adjacent tractor.

"Oh my God. Hey. I didn't expect to see you here."

Drake had no idea who this guy was.

It's me. Rhett Sanders. Remember? I sat in front of you in Mrs. Hayfer's class senior year."

"Oh! Yeah!" Still doesn't ring a bell.

"You, Julio, and I used to sneak behind the bleachers and smoke a blunt during lunch. Of course, that was back when he still smoked."

"Right." Drake forced a laugh, and he was pretty sure that this Rhett guy knew he was faking. Suddenly, he felt awkward.

Rhett broke the silence. "I thought I saw you earlier. What, were you visiting your grandpa or something?"

"Um, yeah, just a quick...visit." Drake wanted to take the attention off of himself. "What about you? What are you doing here?"

"My dad sometimes sneaks me on his truck and lets me go with him when he travels. We stopped for food."

Rhett had gotten high with Drake his fair share of times. He knew all the old high school rumors that surrounded the boy and his sudden disappearance after graduation, and they were probably accurate. Drake looked completely strung out, and he was pretty sure his old pal wasn't here visiting his grandfather.

"Hey, um, do you think...do you think you could loan me a little cash? I left my wallet at home and I was trying to get an Uber."

Suddenly, Rhett felt awkward, and there was no doubt in his mind that Drake was a junkie prostituting himself out for drugs at a truck stop. God, he'd come such a long way from high school. Rhett now felt guilty for every time he'd supplied the boy with drugs or alcohol or money in the past. It had just been for fun back then. He didn't know that it would come to this.

"No, I'm all tapped out. I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Drake shrugged it off as if it was no big deal. "I'll just call my brother."

Rhett looked past Drake and saw his father waving at him from in front of the diner. "I've got to go. But it was good seeing you, man." He patted the boy's shoulder as he walked past.

"Yeah, you, too." Drake then focused his mind on searching for a man who looked a little too far from home and a little too desperate for a good lay.

* * *

"Can we turn off the lights?" Drake asked.

He was so nervous. Why did he agree to this? He was just gonna give out a couple blowjobs. The promise of such a substantial amount of money had clouded his judgement, and now he was in a situation that he didn't want to be in. However, he knew that he couldn't say no now. This guy had already brought him to his hotel room and everything.

"No, I wanna see your face when I make you cum." He'd said his name was Simon - Si for short. He wanted to make sure that Drake knew it because he was pretty confidant that the boy would be moaning it any minute now.

Drake was sitting on the edge of the bed, and everything in him told him to run. Instead, he sat still when he felt Simon push up against his back. The man's arms reached around him and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. Drake's nostrils flared with disgust when he felt Simon's lips on the crook of his neck, leaving sloppy, wet kisses on his skin. He was already breathing hard directly into Drake's ear. The young man's button-up shirt was pulled off, then his blood-covered white tee. He didn't think the man noticed the red stains. Simon pulled the boy closer, then laid him back against the mattress and started to unbuckle Drake's belt. Soon, that was gone, then his jeans, then his boxers, and then he was fully exposed. He knew that, in order to get paid, he'd actually have to do his fair share of the work. He reached over and squirted some of the lube onto his palm, then started to lather the man's penis. Drake offered up his tongue as they made out. He closed his eyes so that he couldn't see the face of the fifty plus year old man on top of him.

He tried not to think about the weight that was crushing him even though it was hard for him to breathe at times. There was over four hundred and fifty pounds pressing against his chest, smothering him as if he was trapped under a collapsed building. Simon's giant hands gripped Drake's ass, and an uninvited finger penetrated him, preparing him for what was to come. It had been fifteen minutes of foreplay techniques such as this one, and Drake still wasn't hard. He tried thinking about breasts and vaginas and Meelah and Kenzly and Mindy and Molly and every girl he could recall fucking at some party, and finally, the blood started rushing to his dick.

"He's a little shy, isn't he?" Simon looked down at Drake's privates. "Although he has no reason to be. Damn."

It wasn't long after that Simon started positioning Drake the way he wanted. The boy expected to be guided onto his knees with his back to him, but instead, Si pushed his legs up high in the air. It was even harder for Drake to breathe now that he was all folded up like this. Even sitting on top of Tad and doing all the work was nowhere near as humiliating as having his anus on display in this way.

Drake felt himself being penetrated. _This is it. Just relax. Pretend it's Molly. Just get through this._ Every time he opened his eyes with discomfort, he saw Simon staring down at him, sweat pouring off of his sweaty, sweaty, sweaty, sweaty head. God, he wanted to puke.

It took a lot of time and imagination for Drake to begin feeling any sort of pleasure. Simon could tell when he started.

"Be more loud and vocal. Talk dirty to me. I wanna hear your voice."

It took everything inside of Drake to keep himself from crying. Not only was this mentally damaging his dignity and self esteem - he was hurting physically, too. Simon's hands rubbed and squeezed all over his bruises, and it started to become apparent that he was doing it purposefully because he like to see the boy squirm and hear his surprised gasps.

"Moan my name," the man demanded.

Drake did, and he called him "Big Boy" per his request.

"Take it, you dirty whore. You filthy, filthy slut."

"Harder. Harder. Harder! Harder! Harder!" He pushed the humility to the side as more disgusting words fell from his lips. He hated saying them, but for a thousand dollars, he was willing to do anything. He just had to keep this creep satisfied, and the noisier he was, the happier Si was.

It was hard because he kept trying to think of Molly. It wasn't unbelievable that she would have him in a position like this. However, Simon wouldn't stop fucking talking and grunting and panting for two fucking seconds, so Drake couldn't forget whose penis was inside of him. He just wanted to cum so that this whole nightmare would be over. God, he couldn't breathe. _Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry._ He wished that Charlie was here to keep him numb. This would be so much easier that way.

Simon started thrusting faster, and the headboard of the bed frequently knocked against the wall in a steady rhythm. He could feel his climax starting. "Oh, God..." he moaned. "Oh, fuck."

Martin was probably having himself a good laugh right about now. It was discomforting to know that he could currently see his o-face.

"Oh, shit." Drake grabbed the railing of the headboard with his sweaty hands and tilted his head back.

Then again, why would Martin spend his afterlife looking down at Drake? He was probably watching over Megan and her perfect life. Or maybe he just wanted to see Drake suffer. Maybe his hatred for the boy was stronger than his love for his daughter.

Drake was surprised when he felt Simon's warm release rush through his backside. The man let go of a noise that sounded like some strange wild animal howling at the moon. When Drake's orgasm ended, he took deep breaths, then finally rested his aching legs against the mattress.

Simon let go of a laugh in between catching his breath. "Woo-hoo-hoo! You've got quite the potty mouth on you, boy."

 _Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry._ Drake pushed himself up, then reached over the edge of the bed for his boxers. After he put them on, he got up and went into the bathroom. He grabbed a nearby washcloth and wiped his own semen from his stomach. He avoided making eye contact with his reflection. He was so ashamed.

Simon appeared out of nowhere and wrapped his arms around him from behind. He kissed his shoulder. "Do you have to go so soon?"

"Yeah, I have to be somewhere." Drake somehow managed to tear himself from the large man's grip. He went back into the bedroom and picked up his jeans.

"Come on, baby. Why don't you stay the night? Give me twenty minutes. I'll be ready to go again."

"I can't." Drake put on his shirt, then grabbed his button-up. "Where's the money?"

"What money?"

Drake's heart sank. He turned to the man. "The money you promised me."

"Don't be so naive."

The boy clenched his teeth. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You really thought I'd give you a thousand dollars? You think I make that kind of money? And that'd I'd spend it on a fucking whore from a truck stop?"

Drake had thought that it was too good to be true. A thousand was a lot compared to the ten to forty dollars he would receive for a blowjob. He'd just been so desperate.

"You fucking bastard." He was fuming. He slammed his fists against the man's large chest, but it didn't seem to affect him, so he did it again, then again, then again. "You fucking son of a bitch!"

Simon grabbed his arms with ease, then moved closer to him, which ultimately made Drake fall backwards onto the bed. The man got on top of him and pinned his arms against the mattress.

"Get off! Get off, you fucker! Get off of me!"

"You think I should pay you? You enjoyed it just as much as I did. _More_ than I did, in fact."

"GET OFF!"

Simon was too heavy to budge. "Let's go again. I bet I can make you cum even harder."

Drake felt helpless as the man pressed their lips together. The boy turned his head, and finally, the waterworks started. "Stop!" he screamed.

The obese truck driver had such a tight grip on his wrists that he swore his bones were breaking. He was paralyzed under all of his weight. Drake's nose turned up with disgust as the guy licked his cheek slowly.

"Oh, God, stop!"

"I'm not done with you yet, whore."

Tears poured from Drake's eyes as the man reached down and tugged down the boy's pants. He grabbed his private area and started fondling it. Now that one of Drake's hands were free, he smashed his fist against Simon's back. The man didn't seem bothered.

"Get off!"

"I will get off. And I'll get you off again, too."

"You sick fuck!" Drake said as he sobbed. He was about to give up and allow the man to have his way with him, but then he had an idea. He reached over with his free arm, his fingertips just barely grazing the glass lamp. _Come on._ Just then, his button-up shirt was forced open, then his long-sleeved tee was lifted up to his nipples. Still he continued to reach, but pulled back when he felt his nipple being bitten. "Ahh! Fucking stop it, you piece of shit!" He brought his fist down against the man's skull, and to retaliate, Simon grabbed a hold of his throat.

It was just like Martin all over again. Only this time, Drake wasn't going to feel fucking guilty. Once more, he reached for the lamp, and finally, his fingers were able to grab hold of it. He pulled it closer so that he could get a better grip, then he lifted it and smashed it against the back of Simon's head. The man let go then and fell against the floor with a curse. Drake stood and grabbed his bag that was supposed to contain a bunch of cash from his gas station robbery. He reached inside, and just as Simon lunged for him, he pulled out the gun.

"Back up! Back the fuck up!" he croaked.

"Jesus! Take it easy, alright? I was just trying to show you a good time."

Drake stepped back carefully because his jeans were still around his ankles. He pulled down his shirt, and when he was at a comfortable distance, he cautiously reached down and pulled up his boxers, then his pants. "Give me your wallet."

"Hey, listen-"

"Give me your fucking wallet!" Now that his clothes were fixed for the most part, he moved closer threateningly.

"Just put the gun down."

Drake furiously kicked his ribs, then pressed the gun against Simon's head.

"It's over there, okay?! Just d-don't shoot!" He was stuttering now, and he was close to tears.

Drake went over to the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed and pulled open the drawer. The man's wallet was sitting next to a hotel Bible. Drake ignored all the signs that the universe was sending him and grabbed the wallet.

"You're just so damn hot. I couldn't help myself. You're more attractive than the other prostitutes I've slept with. And I thought you wanted it. You liked it so much the first time. You're the first guy I've actually made cum-"

"Five fucking dollars?! That's it?!" Drake put the money into his pocket, tossed the wallet down, then went over to the man and angrily pointed the gun at him.

"Please, don't shoot! That's all I have until payday! Please, don't shoot!" He lifted his arms over his head for protection.

"You fucking dick! I should fucking kill you!"

"Please, I've got kids. I have a wife. She's really sick. She has cancer. Every cent I make goes to keeping her alive a little bit longer."

Drake had about two hours left until he had to meet up with Marcellas again, and he had maybe one hundred and twenty dollars. All those blowjobs hadn't amounted to shit. He had to think of something or else he would die.

Drake went back over to the other side of the bed and picked up the wallet again. He started pulling things out until he came across a debit card. "How much is on here?"

"Uh..." The man was too terrified to think.

"Come on, Simon! Focus! How much is on here?!"

"Uh, eighty, I think."

"Goddamnit." It's gonna have to do. "What's the pin?" He didn't receive an answer. "What's the pin, goddamnit?!"

"Um, it's the year we met. 1978."

"1988," Drake repeated to store it into his memory. "Look at me. I'm gonna take this. Don't call the cops or the bank to report it stolen." He grabbed the man's driver's license, then read the address. "If you do, I'm gonna pay that wife of yours a little visit. Do you understand me?"

Simon was so scared that he had pissed on himself.

"I said, do you understand?!"

"Yes! I won't say anything! Don't hurt my wife!"

Drake was just as terrified as he was. He slipped the gun into the back of his waistband and covered it with his shirt. He exited the hotel room and let go of his breath. He quickly made his way down the hall and pressed the button for the elevator a hundred times. God, he felt so sick. _I'm gonna throw up._ He tried to push those thoughts away as the door opened. There was already an older couple inside. He got in, ignoring their displeasured looks. After checking the buttons, he saw that they, too, were going to the ground floor. He was so nervous about what he had just done. He couldn't wait to be out of there. _I'm gonna throw up._

Drake could feel the couple staring at him. He offered them a smile to let them know that he was harmless, but they seemed even more shaken by it. It was then that he thought about his appearance. He still had sex hair. His button-up shirt was undone and wrinkled, and the white tee underneath was still covered with Sammie's blood. He had no shoes on, for he'd been in such a rush to leave Simon's that they had completely slipped his mind. No way was he going back up there, though. Fuck the shoes.

 _I'm gonna throw up._ Drake impatiently stared at the screen above the door that displayed the floor number. _8...7... Come on. Come on._ Thankfully, no one else was getting on or off the elevator. Drake's movements were erratic, and he couldn't stop shaking. The man on the elevator pulled his wife closer for protection when he saw the bloody cloth wrapped around Drake's hand. _4...3...2...G. Ding!_ Drake slipped through the cracks before the door was fully open. He hurried across the empty lobby, hoping that the receptionists couldn't see the blood on his shirt. He pushed open the door before the doorman caught sight of him.

"Have a good night," the man said, his eyebrows furrowed, for he was confused as to why Drake was in such a hurry.

"You, too." _I'm gonna be sick._

Drake turned and started fast-walking. He didn't make it far before he leaned against the wall and vomited his guts out. It was all too much for him. First was the fear and anxiety about this deadline and the fact that he hadn't even made a dent in getting what he owed. Then there were the memories of the sex and the words he had said and Simon's disgusting, heavy, sweaty body on top of him, pumping into him. And after what was probably the best sex of that fucker's life, he still wanted more? Greedy fucking pervert. And then Drake had actually had the balls to put a gun to his head and steal his money and threaten his dying wife. Where the hell had that Drake come from? Jesus, he was terrified of the person that he was becoming.

* * *

Drake's sleeve tore, and his bicep started stinging when he sliced it open via the thorny vines. He was climbing up the lattice on the side of his former home, but unfortunately, it was covered in roses and prickly thorns. He'd tried several other windows, starting with the one that led to the bedroom he used to share with Josh, but they were all locked. After the last scare with Marcellas' crew, his family had taken the best precautions that they could to prevent it from happening again. However, now Drake was finding it hard to sneak in.

"Ah!" Drake yanked his hand away from the lattice when he was poked. He saw that it had drawn blood. "Goddamn!" When he was younger, he would always sneak in and out his bedroom window, so he wasn't familiar with this painful route. When he finally made it to the top, he lifted his arm and pushed up on the window, and thank God, it was unlocked! He climbed higher so that he could stick his feet in first, then he slipped into the window, causing a bit of a crash when he accidentally dropped his bag. "Fuck!" he whispered.

And then suddenly, the upstairs hallway light flipped on, and Walter stood a few feet away from him with a wooden baseball bat at the ready. "Drake?!" He quietly hissed, dropping the bat to his side. "Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing?! I thought you were a burglar!"

Drake sniffled, for he was getting sick again. Oh, God, it was so toasty in here. He had been out in the freezing cold for hours. He couldn't wait for this hellish winter to be over. "Hey, Walter," Drake said as if he hadn't just crawled up the side of the house and broken in through a window. He noticed the man's face go pale in two seconds flat and followed his gaze to the floor, where he found that his bag had fallen upside down and spilled out his cash and gun. "Shit!" He quickly bent over to stash them back inside of the bag.

"Who's blood is that on your shirt?" the man asked. He sounded as though he had lost his breath for a moment. "Drake, what have you done?"

"It's not what it looks like," Drake said.

Walter didn't believe him. "Oh my God, Drake."

"No, listen, I didn't kill him, okay? And I tried to stop the bleeding. There was just so much blood."

"Shh." Walter nervously looked towards the bedroom that he had just walked out of, for he didn't want his wife to hear. "Come downstairs."

Drake followed him into the living room, and once they were there, Walter whisper-yelled at him.

"What on earth have you done?! You killed someone?! For drug money?!"

"No! I didn't! I-"

"Why did you come here?!"

"I-I needed to ask for a favor."

Walter shook his head. "I'm not gonna be your alibi."

"No, I didn't - I didn't kill anyone. I swear," Drake said, and his step-father seemed to believe him.

"Then what do you want?"

"I just..."

 _This again._ "It's money, isn't it? I've already told you a hundred times. I'm not giving you money just so you can go buy a bunch of drugs."

"It's not for drugs," Drake said desperately. He was aware that he was already twenty minutes late to meet Marcellas.

"Right."

"Please. I promise. I owe some money-"

"For drugs."

"No," he tried. "I borrowed some money and now I have to pay it back and-"

"I can't help you."

"It's not for drugs," he pleaded as he eagerly bounced on his heels.

"I won't be apart of this." Walter started to cross the room and lead the boy to the front door to kick him out.

"No, please, listen."

"It's time for you to go. I-"

"No."

"-told you not to come back here."

"Just fucking listen to me!" Drake yelled maybe a little too loudly. At least this had gotten the man's attention. "Look, if you just help me out this one time, I swear on my life - on everything - that I will stay out of your life. I'll leave you alone. I'll never come back. I'll never call. Please, I just need this one thing from you. Please."

"What the hell is the matter with you, Drake? You get your girlfriend killed. You almost get your mother and sister killed. This is not a game. You are messing with people's lives."

"I know. I know! I'm a fuck-up, okay?" Drake glanced at the time on the cable box below the television, then he moved his eyes back to the man. "I know I don't deserve it. I know I'm a low-life piece of shit. I know I've let you down, okay? I know that. And I'm _so_ sorry. And I know I said some hurtful things to you, but it's not your fault. It's not my dad's fault. It's my fault. I fucked up my own life. I take responsibility. I know everyone is better off without me, and I swear after this, I'll disappear from everyone's life. I'm just so scared, and I'm begging you to just bail me out of this one thing, and then I'll be gone forever. Please. Please. Please. I will get on my knees and beg if that's what you want. I'll do anything. I just need this money. Please."

Just then, the front door burst open with a loud crash. Drake jumped out of his skin and whipped his head in that direction. The second he saw Rashaad, his heart dropped.

"No, fuck!"

Marcellas' crew piled in, followed by the leader himself.

"Get the family." He tilted his head towards the staircase.

Rashaad grabbed Drake, then roughly shoved him onto the floor. Immediately, the young man was surrounded by non-stop kicks from three different people.

"Aahhhh!" Drake reached his arm out and tried to pull away, but couldn't, so instead, he tried to shrink himself into a ball. "Aaahhh! Please!"

Walter swung his baseball bat and hit Abdul's back. The man yelped, then angrily pulled out his gun.

"Not yet," Marcellas said.

Abdul then pointed the gun towards Drake, who was drowning in the crowd of violent feet. "Drop the bat or I'll give him a flesh wound."

"Ooowwww! Stop it!"

Walter felt bad because Drake was already in a lot of pain, so he obeyed the man's commands. Abdul immediately picked up the bat, then swung it at Walter's head. His unconscious body dropped like a ton of bricks, and at that moment, Audrey was making her way down the stairs with the help of Josh.

"Walter! Oh my God!"

Audrey, Josh, Megan, and Mindy were led into the dining room. No matter how much they wanted to help the two fallen men, they couldn't, for they were held at gunpoint by Jackie.

"What are you doing?! Stop! You're hurting him!" Audrey was in tears as she listened to Drake's screams. She watched as Abdul lifted the bat high in the air and swung it full force at her son's face, which he'd just managed to block with his arm. "Let him go!"

Josh felt her weight grow heavier, for her legs had given out. He grabbed a chair from the dining table behind him and helped her sit.

Drake was in so much pain that he was crying. He couldn't help it. He was embarrassed. It had been a long time since someone had hurt him this much. Martin would be so proud...of them - not of Drake. All he could feel were constant kick, kick, kicks. Sometimes, they would repeatedly hit the same places, and Drake swore he felt his ribs shattering.

"That's enough."

Even when the crew backed off, Drake still laid there completely limp. He let go of a sob, his face contorted with pain. He clutched his stomach when he coughed as an attempt to lessen the pain. Blood splattered from his lips. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, then he rolled onto his back. He was terrified when he heard slow, menacing footsteps approaching. He knew that it was Marcellas, and sure enough, within seconds, the man was towering over him.

"Where's my money?"

Drake looked at him with pleading eyes. "I'll get it. I-"

Marcellas grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him up, then tossed him towards the fireplace. Drake managed to catch himself on the mantel to stay on his feet. Marcellas grabbed one of the fire pokers off of the rack, then swung it backhanded at the speed of light. The young man was hit so hard that it knocked him off his feet. He had a deep cut on his cheek from where the sharp end of the metal had cut through his skin. He saw Marcellas wind his arm back again, and this time, he held up his arms for protection. However, this time, it smashed against his ribs.

"Gaahh! Fuck!" Again, he was hit. "Gaahh!" Again. "Gaahh!" Again. "Aaahh!" Again. "Oooww!" Drake felt the poker under his neck, forcing him to lift his head. He met the man's eyes with his dark, fearful ones. He nervously swallowed down the blood that was in his mouth, then felt Marcellas press the sharp end of the poker against his Adam's apple.

"Where's my money, Drake?"

Drake was shaking. He opened his mouth. He was so scared that, for a moment, he couldn't get any words out. His lips trembled. "I'll sell for you again. I'll do anything you want. Just please-" He saw the poker being lifted up, so he quickly covered his face with his arms.

"Stop!" Audrey was still screaming away. "STOP IT!"

These cries had no affect on the man, who smashed the metal against Drake's skin.

"Aaaahhh!"

After a couple more hits, Marcellas stopped. "You're hogging all the fun. Why don't we give your family a turn?" He turned towards the group, examined them, then pointed the poker towards Josh.

Jackie gave the boy a shove, pushing him out of the line.

"Don't! Stop!" Audrey held her hands up as if that would help.

Marcellas started to move over to the family, but Drake grabbed his ankle. The man smashed his free foot against the boy's face, and in seconds, blood was pouring down his nostrils like a rapid waterfall. Out of shock, Drake let go and tended to his newest wound. Marcellas continued to make his way over to the beaten boy's step-brother, and as he did so, Mindy stepped forwards and grabbed a hold of Josh's hand.

"Marcellas, please, don't," Drake begged from the floor. He weakly pushed himself onto his knees, but was kicked down again by Abdul. "Ugh!" He clutched his throbbing rib cage and looked up at his brother.

Marcellas turned back to him after noticing that Mindy was pregnant. "You said you had a kid on the way? Is this it?"

Drake spat onto the floor, and a string of blood and saliva hung from his lips. All he could taste was copper.

"Answer him, you fuck!" Abdul kicked the side of his skull.

"Ahh! Shit! You kicked my fucking ear!" He clutched his newest injury. "Yes. It's mine."

"Hmm," Marcellas said as if something was interesting. "Yet Jackie found these two sleeping in the same bed together. Which one of you boys is the lying scumbag?"

Neither of them responded.

"Of course it's you, Drake. Why did I even have to ask?"

The boy was ashamed, but he was okay with taking this verbal beating if it meant that Marcellas would leave Josh alone.

"You know, that's really low: fucking your brother's girl. I guess you'd do anything to get laid," the man said. "Isn't that what you were doing tonight? In the bathroom at the truck stop? And when you climbed into all those tractors with strange men? And when you went with that fat fuck to a hotel?"

"You don't know shit."

"I've had a couple of my guys following you. You were in that hotel room for quite a while. Seems like that was more than a quick bj, if you ask me."

Drake was humiliated. "I was trying to get your money."

"THEN WHERE IS IT?!" Marcellas snapped.

Drake flinched, and his voice was soft. "It's in the bag."

One of the guys with guns - this one named Rodrick - picked up the bag. He pulled out the stack of bills, then passed it to Marcellas.

"What the hell, Drake? You take it up the ass and play with a couple penises and you come back with two hundred dollars? What, were you asking for ten dollars just to suck someone's cock?"

More tears left the boy's eyes, but he kept himself from letting go of a sob. He sniffled, then hung his head to avoid the eyes of his family.

"If you charged that little, you must've enjoyed it as much as they did. Jesus, you must miss having your daddy around to play with your balls and get you off every-"

"Fuck you!" Drake glared at him.

And then Abdul's foot came out of nowhere and smashed against his ribs multiple times. The young man tried his best to shrink away as he attempted to block the blows with his hands, but it wasn't doing much good.

When the man was finished, Drake cursed. "Oh, fuck..." He had his eyes squeezed closed as pain coursed through his body. He coughed some more, and more blood splattered onto his mother's hardwood floor.

"Did you know Abdul here is gay?" Marcellas said. "And he's got quite the hard-on for you. He'd pop a boner every time you used to walk into the O."

Drake looked up at Abdul, thinking that maybe this was embarrassing him, but instead, he wore a wide grin on his face.

"I'll tell you what," Marcellas continued. "If you give him head right now, I won't beat your brother senseless."

"Don't," Josh said.

For the first time during this whole fiasco, Drake met his eyes. Even after everything, Josh wanted to protect him. After the lying, after the cheating, after hurting practically everyone, after this whole situation - Josh still cared about Drake and was looking out for him. That's why Drake couldn't let him get hurt.

"I'll even knock ten bucks off of what you owe," Marcellas taunted.

Drake looked at Abdul again. "Let's go into the kitchen."

"No," Marcellas said. "Right here."

"Stop this!" Audrey yelled.

Drake winced as he pushed himself onto his knees. He couldn't meet his family's eyes, but he turned his head towards them and hung it. "Please, don't look."

"Drake, don't!" Audrey cried.

"You don't have to do this," Josh agreed. He watched as Abdul grabbed Drake's hair and snatched him closer. He felt sick to his stomach, so he knew he had to do something drastic. Just as the man reached down to unzip his jeans, Josh wound his fist back and smashed it against the back of Marcellas' head.

The guns came out then. After the initial shock, Marcellas whipped around and punched Josh square in the nose. The young man fell onto his ass, then yelled when he was kicked.

"Stop!" Drake screamed. "Marcellas! Please, stop!"

Josh had never taken a real beating before. In the lower grades of school, he had been bullied quite a bit for his weight and social status and nerdy qualities and whatever else was off about him, but getting shoved against a fence by a middle schooler had nothing on this. Jackie joined Marcellas in the kicking party, then Rodrick. Josh was screaming. Audrey was screaming. Mindy was screaming. Megan was screaming. Drake was screaming. In the midst of all the chaos, Josh found his mind wandering. _This_ is the kind of thing that Drake used to have to put up with every single day at his father's. _This_ is the kind of pain that he'd kept a secret from the people who could've helped him. And everyday, he had somehow managed to pick himself back up and move on.

"Please, fucking stop it!" Drake cried when he noticed that his brother wasn't yelling anymore. "You're gonna fucking kill him!" Since Abdul was so caught up in the action, Drake was able to get away from him. He grabbed the bag that he'd carried around for most of the night, then pulled out his gun. He pointed it at Marcellas and cocked it. "Leave him alone!"

Suddenly, the barrel of each gun moved from Josh's direction and pointed at Drake. Marcellas turned to him, sweat dripping from his forehead after all the exerted energy.

"You're not gonna shoot," the man said. "You're too much of a fucking pussy. You couldn't even rob the gas station I dropped you off at. Besides, if I die, everyone in your precious little family dies. Starting with this fucker."

Drake followed his eyes to Josh, who was laying completely limp, then he looked at Marcellas again. "Please, just leave. I'll get your fucking money. Just give me a little more time."

"Put the gun down, Drake."

The young man ignored his demand. "I'll rob the gas station, okay? Just take me back there. I'll get your money."

"That ship has sailed. Put down the gun."

"I'll go back to the truck stop. Just give me one more day."

"Put the goddamn gun down."

"I'll do anything. Please, just le-"

"Put the fucking gun down!" Marcellas yelled, then he, too, pulled out his own gun and pointed it at Mindy's stomach.

The girl screamed and tried to dodge it, but Jackie held her in place.

"PUT IT DOWN!"

"Fuck," Drake said shakily when the volume of the man's voice grew. "Okay." Drake placed the weapon onto the floor, then held up his hands to show that he wouldn't try to go for it again. He slowly made his way over to the two, then he put himself in between Mindy and the gun. "Please, don't, okay?"

Again, Mindy screamed out, but this time, it didn't sound like it was out of fear.

"I'm sorry," Drake said, trying to talk Marcellas down. "Please, don't. That's my kid in there." Drake felt Mindy grab his shoulder, and she squeezed so tightly that his face contorted with pain. He turned to see why she was using him for support, and he found that she, too, was in an immense amount of pain. His eyebrows slanted downwards angrily as he glared at Jackie. "The fuck did you do?!"

"Gaaaahhhh!" Mindy screamed.

"Mindy, what happened?! Where does it hurt?!" He could feel her fingers clawing into his shoulder.

"Did she just piss on herself?" Jackie stepped back with disgust as a puddle of water collected on the floor at her and Drake's bare feet. It continued to drip out from under her pajama shorts and down her legs.

"Her water just broke," Audrey said with alarm.

"Oh, fuck," Drake said.

"Gaaa-"

"Aaahh!" The boy screamed as she squeezed harder. It felt like all his bones in his shoulder was breaking.

"-aahh!"

"Get her a fucking chair!" Drake yelled, and Jackie actually listened. The young man helped her sit down.

"Something's wrong."

"Everything's fine," Drake said as she grabbed his hand.

"Something's wrong. I can feel it."

At that moment, they saw blood leaking from under her shorts.

"Oh, shit. We've gotta get you to a fucking hospital."

"Hold up," Marcellas said. "No one's going anywhere."

"Gaaaahhhhh!" As Mindy screamed, she clutched tighter to Drake's hand.

"Ow. Ow." He couldn't pull away.

With all of the loud ruckus, Walter was finally beginning to come to. He blinked, then squeezed his eyes closed at the sharp pain in his head. The loud screeches weren't helping things either.

"Get this baby out of me!" Mindy cried.

"Marcellas, she's gotta go to the fucking hospital!"

"You think I give a shit?! All I care about is the money that you owe me!"

"I'll get your fucking money, okay?! Fuck!"

"Then no one is leaving here until I get it. I have no problem sticking this gun up her vagina and pulling the trigger."

"Gaaaah! Mmmmmm!"

"Mindy, just try to breathe, okay?" Audrey said.

She clenched her teeth together and pursed her lips, but her breathing was more like incoherent words and moaning and groaning. "Ooooohh."

To offer some sort of help, Megan started breathing with her to keep her on track. She squatted next to Mindy and allowed her to take her other hand. "You're doing good," she said. "We'll get you to a hospital soon."

Drake was surprised that she was much better at this than he was even though she was younger. He turned back to Marcellas. "What the fuck do you want from me?! You're money's not gonna appear out of thin air! You've gotta let me go get it! I'll take the car. I'll take the gun. I'll do the gas station thing. I'll get your money. I won't get caught."

"Drake, no," Audrey said.

"Aaaaahhhh!" Mindy squeezed his and Megan's hands.

"Marcellas! Please! I'll be so fucking quick."

"Okay. Fine. But no one else is leaving here until that money is in my hands."

The fact that Marcellas had finally agreed didn't calm him. In fact, he was pretty sure he was more frantic than before, but he had to do this for Mindy and for his family.

"It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get you to a hospital in no time, okay?" Drake pushed himself up, then leaned over and gave Mindy a peck on the cheek, which left behind a bit of blood.

"This is such a stupid plan," the girl said.

"I agree!" Audrey said. "If you get caught, you will go to prison for probably fifteen years!"

Drake ignored her. He picked up his gun with Marcellas' permission, uncocked it, then slipped it into the back of his waistband.

"I swear to God, Drake, if you come back with any cops-"

"I won't. I'm gonna get the money. Just don't hurt anybody while I'm gone." He turned to his mother. "Where are your car keys?"

"I'm not gonna let you use my car so you can go and ruin your life!"

"Mom! I've _already_ ruined my life! I don't want you guys to get hurt anymore. I just wanna do one thing right."

"This isn't the way to make up for things, Drake."

The young man gave up on her and went to search for the keys himself. He saw that they weren't on the rack on the window peeking into the kitchen, so he grabbed her purse off of a table next to the front door and dumped it.

He could hear Mindy screaming through the pain, Megan trying to talk her through it, and Audrey yelling for Walter to wake up. Moments later, he heard the man's voice. He needed to leave before his step-father tried to talk him out of it. _Fuck, where are the keys?!_

Hours before, he had attempted to rob a gas station at gunpoint, but he hadn't had the balls to fully go through with it. Plus, it was Ahmed. He couldn't do that to him. This time, he was going to a different one with cashiers he didn't know - a small one with only one person working the whole store. Or maybe that's not the best idea. Those are the ones where they keep their own weapons behind the counter. Drake could easily get shot and die and leave an infuriated Marcellas to take the blame out on his family.

Still unable to spot the keys, he looked in the drawer of the small table kept by the front door. He wasn't sure why it would be in there, but he couldn't think of anywhere better.

Drake could faintly hear his mother trying to catch a dizzy Walter up on what was happening. He cringed when he heard her use his name, Abdul's name, and the word _fellacio_ in the same sentence. Besides the embarrassment he felt by it, he'd never heard his mother say that word or much of anything sexual before. If Walter was tapping that, they'd kept it hidden well.

Suddenly, Marcellas rounded the corner and shoved his bruised shoulder. "The fuck is taking so long?!"

"I'm looking for the keys."

"You pussying out on me?"

"No, I'm gonna do it."

"Then hurry up!" he yelled, and after he walked away, Drake went right back to searching - this time through his mother's purse again.

"Drake, what are you doing?" It was Walter. He had crossed the room and was now standing next to him.

"I can't find Mom's keys. Fuck!"

"And when you do? You plan to hold someone up at gunpoint?"

"Mindy needs to go to a hospital. They won't let anyone leave until I pay them back." Drake accidentally knocked a pile of his mother's belongings onto the floor. He cursed and looked down at it, finally finding the keys on top of what had fallen. He picked them up. Drake started to open the front door, but Walter grabbed his arm. The young man turned to him.

"So what? You're actually gonna do this?"

"What choice do I have?" Drake said.

"You're so young. Do you know what they would do to you in prison? This is gonna ruin your life."

"I'm just trying to save yours. You have no idea what these guys will do if they don't get their money. He won't kill me. He'll kill you. Or Megan. Or Josh. Or Mom. Just to hurt me."

"You still haven't fucking left yet?!" Marcellas said with irritation.

"I've gotta go. Everything's gonna be fine. I'll be right back." He started to turn, but was grabbed again. "Just let me go."

"How much do you owe?"

Drake was ashamed of the large number. "A lot."

"How much? Didn't you say five hundred?"

"Nine grand."

"Nine grand?! For Christ's sake, Drake!"

"I know. I'm a fuck-up. I'm aware. Just let me go so I can fix this."

Walter did. He looked at Marcellas, who was sitting on _his_ recliner as if it was his throne. "He owes you nine thousand dollars?"

The man nodded.

Walter shook his head, then met his wife's eyes. He was so heartbroken just seeing her this way. He knew that she must be feeling so helpless. Maybe her lack of mobilization was a good thing. She probably would've done something in an attempt to protect one of these kids that put herself in harm's way. Walter had come close to losing her before, and he couldn't handle going through that again. Audrey was so strong. Drake had put her through a lot. He wasn't saying that he was a bad kid - not at all. He knew he was really hard on him, but he was just angry and disappointed. That's all. He didn't know how on earth she kept going everyday, but she did. She was the glue that held this dysfunctional family together, and she didn't deserve what was happening to her.

"I'll pay it."

Drake, who already had his hand on the front door and was midway through turning the knob, stopped in his tracks, then turned around and looked at him. He couldn't even begin to describe the immediate relief he felt.

Marcellas stood, now interested when he heard an update on his money. "You have it?"

"I do."

Audrey looked just as surprised as Drake, but she didn't care where the money was coming from. She just wanted this nightmare to be over.

"Drake and I will go get it, but I don't want your posse here with my wife and kids while I'm gone. You can tell me where you want me to meet you, and I'll be there in an hour."

Rashaad broke into the conversation, his eyebrows furrowed. "You think you're calling the shots, old man?"

Marcellas held up his hand. He didn't care where they met as long as he got his money. This was the closest he had come to getting it, so he was willing to play along. "Rashaad, you ride with them. When they get it, have them come to the O. The rest of us will be there," he said respectfully.

Drake had never been so shocked in his life. Walter was like some sort of badass superhero or something.

He motioned for his men to get ready to leave. As they started towards the door, Marcellas stopped in front of Walter, who held his ground as if he had no fear inside of him. "But I must warn you: you are now taking responsibility for this money. If I don't get it, it won't just be Drake that I'm coming after." He spoke louder so that everyone could hear. "If I see a single cop show up at my place tonight, I will be back. If you thought that this was terrifying, just wait until you see what else I'm capable of. Just ask Drake. The only reason he hasn't broken every bone from falling off a rooftop or lost any of his toes is because he's such a good ass-kisser." Marcellas flashed him a smile, then looked at his family again. "Do we understand each other?"

Each one of them agreed.

Marcellas nodded with satisfaction. "Rashaad, if you start to notice any funny business, shoot the kid in the head. He doesn't have money. His step-father has inherited the family debt."

Drake hoped that Walter did have some secret supply of cash hidden somewhere for his sake. Otherwise, he was going to die and leave his family in a shitstorm.

After Marcellas was gone, Walter went over to his wife. "Call an ambulance for Mindy. I'll meet you at the hospital."

"Be careful," she said, then she gave him a kiss.

"I love you. I'll see you soon."

"You don't have all fucking day." Rashaad held his gun in a threatening manner.

The three men made their way to the car. Walter took the keys from Drake without making eye contact. Drake knew that he was pissed. This had all been blown way out of proportion. He got into the passenger's seat and kept his head down in shame to please the man. Rashaad slid into the backseat. He leaned against the door and rested his legs on the seat as if he owned the vehicle. He kept the gun in his hand.

The drive was mostly silent. They had almost reached their destination before Drake finally spoke up.

"I'm really, really sorry about all this."

"Please, just sit there and keep your mouth shut, okay?" Walter snapped. He was fuming, and hearing the boy talk would probably make him say something he knew he'd regret later.

Drake guiltily hung his head. He had really fucked up this time. The fact that Marcellas had actually brought his family into it was fucked up. He envied Sammie right now. He wished it was him that was laying under a slab of dirt. He knew he deserved it.

"So Drake," Rashaad said casually, "are you gay?"

The boy didn't even look at him. "No."

"That guy who took you to his hotel room - did you bottom?"

Drake was mortified. Walter had been unconscious when his attempt to get money had been revealed.

"I asked you a question," Rashaad said in a more serious tone. "Did you take it up the ass, like I'm sure you did with your dad?"

The young man swallowed hard. He could feel his eyes watering over once again.

"Did he make you cum?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, RASHAAD!" Drake yelled after finally turning in his seat.

Pissed off at the boy's lack of respect, Rashaad pushed his bottom out of the seat, snatched Drake's hair, and smashed the boy's face against the dashboard twice, then the window.

"Christ! Calm down!" Walter yelled, glancing over at the action when he heard glass crack.

Drake clutched his face, which was already covered with blood. His newly busted lips dripped strings of the crimson liquid. It dropped down his chin, on his neck, and covered the collar of his shirt. When he tried to stop it from getting all over the car by catching it with his hand, it dripped down his arm and onto his jeans. Suddenly, he felt the gun poke deeply into his side.

"You know, I could just end you now and tell Marcellas that you tried to do something stupid."

Walter looked out of the corner of his eyes and saw the pain in his step-son's face. Rashaad must have the weapon pressed against a bruise.

"I can't believe you were actually gonna blow Abdul. In front of everybody, too. That's fucking sick."

"Fuck you," Drake said quietly, clearly discomforted by the gun poking against his ribs.

"Look, we're here," Walter said. "Everyone just calm down, alright?" The man pulled into a parking space. To make sure nothing happened to him while he got the money out of the bank, he said, "Drake, let's go inside."

"The boy stays here," Rashaad said firmly.

Walter looked over at his step-son, who nodded, silently telling him to go on and that he'd be okay. Maybe it was best this way. Drake had blood and bruises all over him. He'd only attract attention.

"I swear, if you touch him while I'm gone, your boss will never see this money." He knew that he was in no position to be making demands and that if he didn't pay, they would go right back to hurting his family. No matter what this guy did to Drake, he'd have to hand over the cash to protect his other loved ones.

After Walter was gone, Drake weakly hung his head and clutched his aching ribs. Every single movement left him in agonizing pain. If it wasn't for the adrenaline rushing through him, he would still be laying on his mother's hardwood floor. He couldn't stop thinking about Josh. The first beating of his life had been so severe that it had knocked him unconscious. He hoped that he was okay - that he still had it in his heart to forgive Drake for this one last thing. God, he was wearing his family thin with all of his chaos. Despite not wanting anything to do with his kid's life, he would feel genuinely awful if the stress he had caused the girl made her miscarry. She would be a good mom. She was smart as fuck. Maybe she'd lost her motivation and determination along the way, but the girl from high school who had aced every test and written essays so long that the teacher dreaded reading them would soon come out in her again. Besides, she was a perfectionist at everything she did. She wouldn't be alone either. She had great support. Josh was going to be the kindest dad. Megan would be the coolest aunt. And Baby What's-her-name's grandparents will spoil her for the rest of her life. This was Audrey's first grandchild, and although it was a tad earlier than expected, she couldn't be more elated. At least Drake had brought a little bit of joy to her life.

"What's taking him so long?" Rashaad said after ten minutes.

"I don't know."

He looked up at the bank. It was larger than most. It looked like one of those banks that only the fancy people in movies with a lot of money went to - the kind where you had to unlock your box with a key in a room by yourself to retrieve some top secret flash drive or passport or something. He had no idea where Walter had gotten this kind of money. Maybe it was an inheritance, or maybe he'd added in more and more with each paycheck so that he and Audrey would be secure after retirement. Whatever it was, Drake was glad that it existed, but sad that it was about to be used on him.

Rashaad held up his gun. "He's calling the fucking police."

"He's not."

"And how would you know?"

"Because he's not fucking stupid, and he doesn't lie. If he said he has the money, he's got it. Just give him a few more minutes."

Rashaad pulled out his phone. "Call him."

Drake took it, then dialed the number. It was easy to remember, for there were a lot of duplicate numbers. This is why he always called Walter from a payphone instead of his mother. He'd never memorized her number, and he regretted it. She would've let him come home in a heartbeat after hearing him beg, he was sure.

Rashaad snatched the phone, then put it to his ear. When Walter answered, he said, "I know you've called the cops. I've got a gun to your son's head. If you're not out here with the money in sixty seconds, I'm gonna blow his brains all over your fucking windshield."

Sure enough, Drake felt the barrel of the gun press against the side of his skull. His heart started beating out of his chest. In his mind, he pictured Walter coming back to his car to find a gigantic blood splatter on the glass. Chunks of his brain lay on display all over the dashboard.

Rashaad hung up the phone with irritation.

"What if he's waiting in line?" Drake said.

"Then he better find a way to fucking cut," said Rashaad. "Why? You scared?"

The young man didn't respond.

"You think it'll hurt?"

 _Oh, God, Walter, please, please, hurry._

Drake counted down the seconds in his head, but he was pretty sure he was counting too fast. He was counting according to the beating of his heart, and his heart was beating rapidly. Hopefully, Rashaad's countdown was much more accurate.

The young man felt himself sweating. His palms were clammy and disgusting. There was no reason for Rashaad to keep him alive anyway. This man had killed someone just for kicks, Ricardo had told him. What's to stop him from repeating the same act on him?

He regretted that he hadn't told his mother he loved her before leaving the house. He hadn't said much to anyone. He had been too scared and overwhelmed to be thinking, _"What if I don't make it back?"_ All that was in his mind was that he had to get the money no matter what it took - no matter the price he had to pay.

"Time's up." Rashaad cocked the gun.

"No, Rashaad, don't!" Drake quickly pushed the gun away, and just as he did that, he heard a loud bang right next to his ear. He clamped his hand over his ear, his head swirling and spinning as he recovered from the loud ringing. Jesus, he had a migraine.

"There's that motherfucker."

Walter was running back to his car with his suitcase in his hand. He whipped open the door and got inside. "Drake, are you okay?!" His heartbeat quickened.

Drake was clutching his head as he hunched over. He was actually crying again. Rashaad hadn't been kidding. He'd thought that it was just a threat. He had actually almost killed him. His brains had almost been splattered all over the fucking place.

"Drake?"

"Give me the money," Rashaad demanded.

Walter passed him the suitcase, then placed his hand on his step-son's shoulder. He saw that his windshield had a tiny, round hole from where the bullet had shot through.

"Hurry the fuck up," Rashaad said as he counted the money. "I wanna get back to the O before someone reports gunshots in this area."

"You almost killed my son!" Walter was pissed.

"And I still might," Rashaad said. "Now shut the fuck up, start the car, and get us the fuck away from here."

Walter was about to explode on him, but Drake met his eyes then.

"It's fine," he said softly. "Let's just finish this. I just want this to be over."

The man sighed, then cranked the vehicle and put the gear into drive. Drake was right to have calmed him. Who knows what Rashaad would've done had Walter of pissed him off further? The smartest thing to do would be to keep quiet and cooperative until they were around Marcellas again. He seemed like the most level-headed of his group.

* * *

Maybe Drake should've cleaned himself up better before coming back in here again. The second Drake stepped out of the hallway lit up with blacklights and into the crowded dance floor, he was recognized by one of his regulars named Dante.

"Drake, what's up?! I haven't seen you in forever! Jesus, what happened to you?"

Rashaad eyed Drake to silently command him to end the conversation.

"I'm fine," The boy yelled over the music. "I've got a thing I have to go take care of really quick." He pointed behind him to let Dante know that he was leaving.

"That's cool. But hey, can I get a couple before you go?"

Jesus, did he have to ask this in front of fucking Walter?! Come on, dude.

"I don't sell anymore."

"Well, shit. Do you know where I can get some from?"

"No, sorry."

But he didn't hold Drake up any longer. "Alright, man. I'll see you later." He grabbed the boy's hand and bumped their shoulders together as if they were best friends or something.

After that, Drake continued following Rashaad up the side staircase. Walter was behind him, looking around curiously. Apparently, this was where Drake had spent a lot of his time. There was so much about the boy that he didn't know.

At the top of the staircase, a man wearing all black unclipped a red, velvet rope, allowing them into the VIP area. To their left were couches full of people smoking weed and other drugs and getting lap dances. To the right, topless women were grinding on poles as men slipped dollar bills into their thongs just so that they could cop a feel of their ass. Drake felt ashamed that Walter was seeing this side of him. He'd never accepted any of the free private dances he'd been offered by any of the prostitutes Marcellas kept around him, and he was glad that he hadn't because now he knew what it was like to be so desperate for money that you would pimp out your own body and allow other people to admire it or touch it or shove a dick inside of it or cum all over it.

After one more rope, they turned a corner and went down a hallway. Drake's nerves got worse when he saw Cedric standing outside the door like he always did. The man turned the knob, and Rashaad led them inside. Of course, Marcellas had a couple scantily clad women sitting on his lap.

"Shit, you guys really did a number on him," one of his crew who had stayed back to watch over the club said.

Drake was still covered in blood and bruises. His appearance hadn't exactly been the thought at the forefront of his mind.

"Did you get daddy to pay off your debt for you?" another teased.

Marcellas stopped him. "He brought the money. It doesn't matter what he did to get it." He looked at Rashaad. "They brought the money, right?"

Rashaad grabbed the suitcase from Walter, opened it, then held it out for Marcellas to see. "I've already counted it. You can have Rodrick double-check it."

Rodrick stepped forwards. He grabbed the suitcase and took it over to a counter by the back wall so that he'd have more space to count.

"Did everything go smoothly?" Marcellas asked.

Rashaad said it had, so when the leader looked up at Drake and Walter, they both nodded their heads in agreement despite the fact that Drake had almost been shot.

God, if Drake wasn't so nervous, then maybe he could better enjoy this moment. This was the last time he'd ever have to come here and worry about money or Marcellas or getting beat up or getting killed. This was about to take a giant portion of stress out of his life. This was historical.

"It's good," Rodrick said, turning back to the man.

Marcellas stood, then took a couple steps forwards until he was in front of the two. He held out his hand to Walter. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Walter shook it because maybe the fact that there was double the men and double the guns was making him a little anxious.

"Drake," Marcellas said, "don't ever let me see you again."

"Yes, sir." The boy nodded. He didn't receive a respectful handshake.

Instead, Marcellas waved him away to let him know that he needed to leave. Drake led his father out the door, down the hall, across the VIP area, down the stairs, through the edge of the crowd, down the blacklight hallway, and out the front door. Although they could still hear the dance music booming through the walls, it was quiet enough for Drake to speak.

"Where did you get that kind of money?"

"I've been saving since before Josh was born. That was supposed to be your college money, but instead, all my hard work went towards paying off thugs just to protect my family." He was clearly bitter.

"I'm sorry," Drake said. "I will pay you back. I swear."

Anytime Drake make a promise, the exact opposite thing tended to happen, so Walter wasn't holding his breath. "When Josh and Megan have graduated as valedictorians of their classes, and you're flipping burgers at McDonald's, just remember this moment. Remember that I gave you a hundred chances to better your life. Remember that I had your future set for you, and you just pissed it all away."

"I know you've tried your best. I know you've sacrificed a lot for me," Drake said. "And I know that I've made it pretty much impossible to gain your trust back, but I swear on everything that I'm gonna get clean. Starting now. I'm done with drugs. I see now how they affect more than just myself. From now on, I will be the perfect son. I'll get a job. I'll get your money back no matter how long it takes. I'll take care of Mom when you get frustrated. I'll wash the dishes every night. I'll do anything it takes to make it up to you...to her."

Walter didn't respond. Drake didn't really expect him to. He knew what he'd said were just words and that they wouldn't mean anything until he proved them with actions, and this time, he had every intention of keeping his promise.

When they approached the car, the young man opened the door and got inside. Walter sat down, then turned and shoved his briefcase in between their seats so that he could put it in the back. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and started the car. Drake lifted his hands up to his face and cupped them over his nose and mouth, then exhaled. His fingers were numb, and his nose was bright pink. He couldn't wait to get the heat on. He couldn't wait to sleep in his own bed and wake up a free man - free from Marcellas, free from debt, free from Tad's hands, free from addiction. Tomorrow was going to be the best day of his life. Tomorrow, he was going to be a new person. Tomorrow, he was going to be better. Tomorrow, he was-

Drake looked over at Walter when he turned the car off. The man wouldn't meet his eyes. Instead, he stared at the bullet hole in his windshield - of what had almost been. Drake sniffled, for his nose was running. He didn't break the silence, for he was too scared to find out how his step-father would react if he interrupted his thoughts. He knew he was on thin ice.

Walter pulled the key out of the ignition, then dropped his hands into his lap and traced the grooves of each one on the chain. He kept his head down. His voice was quiet. "Get out."

Drake immediately felt a pain in his chest and a lump in his throat. "No. No, no, no, please."

"Get out."

"Please, _please_ , don't."

"You've brought too much pain to this family. You chose this life."

"I swear I'll get clean. I swear." He was already crying.

"You've said that before. You lied every single time. I can't risk something like this happening again. I'm sure you can understand that."

Drake did, but he was serious this time. "Walter, I am begging you - _I am begging you_ \- to give me one more chance. I won't let you down." When the man didn't respond, he said, "Please. I have nowhere else to go."

Saying those words made his voice crack. He literally had nowhere. If he didn't change Walter's mind, he was going to be living on the streets for the rest of his life. Nights at the truck stop would be a full-time gig just so that he wouldn't starve to death. From now on, he'd have to sleep in the small, plastic tunnel at the park. He'd spend his nights freezing and his days praying that the heat from the sun cured his cold. Tomorrow was going to be the worst day of his life. Tomorrow, he will be the same person. Tomorrow, he will wake up to find himself alone right in the middle of the disaster that he called his life.

"Do you remember what you said to me?"

Tears flooded Drake's cheeks. "Please-"

"When you broke into my house this morning and asked for this money, what did you say to me?"

The young man's face contorted and his lips trembled. He couldn't even speak.

"When you asked for money, what did you promise me?" he asked again. "Huh?" He waited. "Tell me!"

"I said-" Drake's voice cracked and went up several octaves. "I said that I would disappear." He couldn't stop himself from letting go of a few sobs.

"Then prove to me that you're trustworthy by keeping your promise."

The noises coming from his throat embarrassed him. He'd rarely ever bawled this hard and this verbally. He could barely breathe. His back jerked violently. He lifted his palm and pressed it against his forehead. "Oh-ho-ho, God," he whined, then he took in a bunch of loud, rapid breaths, but none of them seemed to supply him with any air.

It just kicked in: the promise that he'd made. He'd never see Josh again. He'd never hear his sister's voice. He'd never feel his mother wrap her arms around him and kiss the top of his head even though he pretended to hate it. He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

"No-o-o, ple-ee-ease. Huuuhh," came out of his mouth when he tried to take a breath in. He was frustrated that he couldn't get many words out and argue his case some more, but he knew that it was hopeless anyway.

Walter reached over him and pulled the handle on the passenger door. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Drake stared at it. He could feel the sharp wind hitting his skin like ice.

"Please, don't do this to me! Please!" Drake grabbed his hand with both of his and met his eyes with the most pitiful expression on his face. "Aw, God, please!"

"You did this to yourself."

Drake, still holding his step-father's hand, rested his forehead against it, his tears dripping onto the man's skin. He shook his head, his back shaking even more as his sobbing became inaudible for a few moments. When he could speak again, he choked out, "But I'm sorry. I'm really, really, really, really sorry."

"I know." Walter pulled his hand away. "It's time to go," he said softly.

"No," he begged.

"Drake, if you don't get out of my car, I will call the police."

A strangled sob left the boy's lips. He knew he couldn't be caught with Sammie's blood all over his clothes. He would go to jail for murder. He had to obey the man. He felt weak when he lifted his leg, then put it down onto the concrete. He practically had to peel himself off of the seat. He turned back to the man. "How could you do this to me? I'm your son."

"I wish you the best of luck," Walter said as he reached for the door handle again. "And I love you."

Drake watched hopelessly as the man started the engine, then pulled the car out of the parking space and drove away. He stood there in shock for a couple minutes, hoping that maybe Walter was just trying to scare him or teach him a lesson. Maybe his step-father would drive around the block and come pick him up.

Drake knew the truth, though. He was on his own. For good.

* * *

It had taken hours for Drake to get here, so it was a wonder that he was still crying as hard as he was. He lifted his fist and knocked on the door, hissing as the raw skin on his knuckles caused by a violent beating he'd given earlier scratched against the wood. He sniffled and tried to collect himself. However, once the door opened and he looked into the eyes of the man who's heart he had crushed only hours earlier, he lost his composure. He shamefully hung his head after seeing the black eyes, the busted lip, the cut through the eyebrow - all of which he had done with his own bare hands. There were no words that he could say to him. Nothing would make what he had done - what he had said - okay. No words in the world could take away the pain he had caused him. He weakly dropped onto his knees and bowed his head as his sobbing started up again.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say.

Tad looked down at the young man begging for forgiveness at his feet. He lifted his eyebrows with concern, then squatted down in front of him. "Oh my God, what happened?!" He grabbed the boy's biceps to push him back a bit, but he still couldn't get a good look at him. "Come inside," he said urgently. He pulled Drake to his feet and led him inside, then closed the door behind him. "Who's blood is that?"

The young man kept sobbing as he shook his head. An innocent man had died right in front of his eyes just hours ago. An innocent man whose wife and kids were probably at this moment wondering why he hadn't come home. Drake nestled his head into Tad's neck and wrapped his arms around the man. His former coach returned the hug.

"Jesus, what the hell happened?"

"I'm so sorry," Drake choked. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He placed his hands on Drake's cheeks, forcing the boy to lift his head. He added assurance to his voice to sound believable. "It's okay."

The young man's lips trembled. Snot hung from his nose. Tears bled from his eyes. He was covered in blood and bruises.

Tad held him tighter as the young man grabbed his shirt in his fists and wept into his shoulder. "You're okay. You're okay. I'm here. It's okay now."

* * *

Tad dipped the washcloth into the water, then gently pressed it against Drake's bare back. The young man was sitting naked in the tub with his knees to his chest. The only noise was his frequent sniffles and the sound of water dripping off the rag and back into the bathtub. After several minutes, Tad broke the silence.

"You wanna talk about it?"

At any other time in his life, Drake would be too humiliated to have help while bathing. However, his mind was on a hundred other things. It was like he was still in shock. Everyone hated him. Everyone had abandoned him. He didn't understand why Tad was being so nice to him after the way he had acted earlier. He felt like he needed to fix that. "I had sex with another guy...well, guys, if you count oral."

He could feel the pause of the washcloth against his skin. This is it. This is how he loses the last person to offer him some sort of sympathy, and honestly, he deserved it. However, Tad continued to clean off his back in a soothing manner. This act of kindness bothered Drake.

"Aren't you gonna kick me out?"

"No." He dipped the rag into the water again.

Drake turned to look at him. "Aren't you pissed?"

"I'm more pissed at myself. I thought you were exaggerating earlier when you told me how dangerous these guys were that you owed money to. I should've listened to you. I mean, I didn't have that much money, but I could've scraped something together."

Drake faced the white wall in front of himself again. "I guess my dad was right," he said quietly, looking down at the uncovered words that his father had burned onto his rib cage. " _You_ were right."

Tad felt bad about yelling at Drake when he'd left. He felt even worse when he heard the boy let go of a strangled sob. Drake rested his hung head in his hand, his face contorted as he tried to keep himself from crying again. Unfortunately, it wasn't working.

Tad reached over and petted his disheveled hair gently. He sighed. "I only said that because I was mad. You know I don't think that about you. You mean so much to me. I wish I could take back what I said."

"I wish I could take back what I said, too. And did."

"Hey, it's already forgotten."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because I love you."

"Why? I'm a fucking mess."

"You ever heard of the saying, 'There's beauty in disaster?'" Tad tapped his arm. "Alright, stand up." He reached over and pulled out the drain, allowing the water level to decrease second by second. "Wash your hair and then you'll be done." He turned on the shower head for Drake. "I'll grab you some pj's. And I've got a surprise for you when you're done."

"What is it?"

"You'll have to wait and see." Tad smiled mischievously to leave him in suspense. The man left the room and came back minutes later with a light gray v-neck tee and a pair of blue and gray plaid pajama pants. He had bought this when Drake had first started staying with him and only had the clothes on his back.

At this time, the young man had finished washing the conditioner out of his hair. Tad grabbed a towel, then unfolded it and held it open. Drake turned off the water, stepped out of the tub, and allowed the man to wrap the towel around him.

"Thanks," Drake said genuinely. "For everything."

Tad offered a smile and kissed his forehead. Drake lifted his chin and connected their lips. Now that the man had accepted him back so easily, he had to go back to pretending. It wouldn't be so hard to do since he felt so fucking numb now. Also, he saw a kinder side to Tad that he had somehow missed before, so it wasn't all bad. He was the only person in the world left who loved him. Even Drake didn't love himself. It was nice to know that, to someone, somewhere, he was important.

After Drake dried off and put on his clothes, now in a shitload of pain since the adrenaline was long gone, Tad led him into the kitchen, where there was a small box on the table. The man smiled excitedly.

"Open it."

Drake pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table. He tore at the tape with his fingernails until he finally pulled up enough of the corner to peel the rest off. He pulled open the flaps and peeked inside. The side of his mouth curled up into a smile as he pulled out one of the twenty plus boxes of cough medicine.

"They came today from that guy on the dark web."

 _So much for getting clean._

* * *

 **Author's Note: That took me so much longer than expected. I've had this written forever. I just never felt like editing or didn't have time. February was such a busy month for me. There's gonna be one more chapter after this one, and then I'll be done with this story. Thanks Sleepy Owl for messaging me yesterday and urging me to update. I just needed that little push.**

 **Now to reply to some reviews.**

 **Michael J. O'Malley: I don't know why, but I love to make hatable characters lovable out of nowhere and vice versa. I just like people to be unsure of their feelings for people, just like Drake is unsure about his. And also because I feel like people have more depth than their outward appearance.**

 **Sleeping Owl: You're so great. I love you.**

 **xPala: That's what I was going for. There's just been so many depressing chapters lately that I went for a more excitingly depressive chapter this time.**

 **Guest who said I was ambitious: Thanks. You're sweet.**

 **Ivan: Oh my God. Thank you so much for spending that much time telling me your thoughts on the story. ~ I also love Ricardo. ~ I'm so excited that you listened to the songs I used because they are everything. I feel like they set up the atmosphere and the mood, but that could just be because I listened to those songs back when Charlie and I were a thing, so they have a special place in my heart and emotion that they bring up every time I listen to them. ~ My life has been a hot mess, too, so I hope things are better with you. ~ I feel like at this time in his life, Drake would turn down any sort of help, especially inpatient. But maybe soon? Cross your fingers. ~ I watched The Perks Of Being A Wallflower forever ago and don't remember it, but I almost bought it the other day. Hope you don't mind that I brought Tad back this chapter, though. And you thought that whole relationship was over. ~ I'm glad you thought the whole scene with Sammie was brilliant because I actually put my heart into that chapter and really worked on description and thoughts and stuff. ~ I'm just super obsessed with Drake & Josh, and I thought that maybe I provided enough of a background that people could be open-minded about this completely different Drake and actually believe that he would act this way in certain situations. That's why I chose Drake. ~ I like to keep as many characters from the show as possible, and I originally planned for Julio to be a big character, but then Ricardo kinda got created somehow, and I thought it was better for that relationship to be with someone older and wiser as opposed to someone who had never experienced addiction and abuse. Trevor and Luke are super hard to write for. That's like writing for Walter. He's such a goof, and I can't get interested in their characters, which is why Walter is so different and everyone hates him even though, like, as a parent, what would you do in that situation? I'm just apart of the minority that completely understands Walter's actions. ~ Anyway, I just made a whole extra thing for you to read, so I'll stop here. I so appreciate every single thing you said, and I can't wait to see more of your thoughts as this story comes to a close.**


	20. The Beginning Of The End

_(1 month later)_

Mindy stood when she heard the doorbell ring. She held her baby in her arms and spoke in a childish voice. "I think you got some visitors. Who do you think it is, Adley?" She moved over to the door and pulled it open to see Ricardo.

The man smiled. "Hey, how are you?" He leaned forwards and gave her a distant hug as not to squish the baby.

"Good. I was wondering when I'd see you." She motioned for him to come inside, then led him into the living room.

"I've been trying. I've just been so caught up at work. One guy quit on me last minute because he's moving and another broke his foot. Is she awake?"

"Yeah, I just finished feeding her. You wanna hold her?"

Ricardo nodded, then allowed her to pass the baby to him. He took a seat on the couch. "She's so beautiful." He bounced her. "Wow, she has a head full of hair already." This was his first time seeing the baby in person. He noticed as he looked down at the child's face that she had a couple of Mindy's features, but for the most part, Adley was an exact replica of Martin Parker. "Where is everyone today?"

"Everyone's at work and school. It's just us two," Mindy said in a baby voice as she looked at her daughter with a funny face.

Adley smiled in return and rolled her lips together, forcing saliva to drip down her chin.

Ricardo wiped it away. "What about Drake?"

She furrowed her brows. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

"He hasn't been living here in over two months."

Ricardo seemed surprised by the news.

"No one told you?"

"No."

"He was involved with these drug dealers. They broke in and destroyed the house. Megan was home and hid under her bed. Walter was pissed. He kicked him out. A month later, I wake up to a gun in my face and everyone is forced downstairs. Walter's unconscious on the floor, and Drake's getting the shit beaten out of him right there." She pointed next to the fireplace behind herself. "I guess he showed up in the middle of the night trying to ask for money, but those guys busted in here and threatened to kill everyone."

"What happened?"

"Walter paid it. Nine thousand dollars, Drake owed them. They went to go pick it up and then meet up with them again to drop it off. Drake never came back with Walter. Walter never said much, but I think he told him not to."

"Damn, why didn't anyone tell me?"

"I thought he went to you. I didn't know where else he would go."

"I haven't seen him." Ricardo looked stunned. "He's been gone for a month?"

Mindy nodded her head, then looked down at Adley. "Uh-oh, looks like someone spit up." She stood and went over to her diaper bag, pulled out a cloth with ducks all over it, then wiped the corner of the baby's mouth. After that, she wiped off Ricardo's shirt. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine." He was clearly distracted. He knew that if Drake didn't come to him, then it was because he was using again and knew that he wouldn't be able to get high at Ricardo's house. "So you haven't heard from him or seen him?"

Mindy shook her head. "Nope. I've been raising this little princess all in my own." She picked up Adley and made silly noises with her lips. "I mean, everyone here has been a big help. Josh changed his mind last minute and decided that he didn't want to be a dad either, but I don't really blame him. It was Drake's responsibility. He's the one who bailed."

Adley started whining suddenly.

"Somebody's tired. I need to put her down for a nap."

Ricardo stood. "I should get going anyway. Now that I finally have a day off work, I need to catch up on some sleep."

"I know what you mean," Mindy said, and they shared a laugh. "Thanks for stopping by."

"Of course."

* * *

Julio walked down the staircase of his home. He looked up from his phone and slipped it into his pocket. He saw his older brother making himself a BLT in the kitchen and noticed that he seemed distracted. "Rhett's outside. I'm gonna go to his house for a bit."

"Alright." Before Julio could leave the kitchen, Ricky put down the knife that he was spreading mayonnaise with a turned to him, holding up his hand. "Hey, you, um-"

Julio looked at him.

"-you haven't talked to Drake lately have you?"

"No, you know this is my first time in a while leaving the house, and I don't think he has a phone." Julio felt guilty that he hadn't visited to see the new baby, but it was so hard just to get out of bed in the mornings without feeling anxious. "Why? What's up?"

"I went over to his house to see the baby, and Mindy said he hasn't been living there for a while. She hasn't seen him either."

"So he's using again," Julio concluded with a hint of disappointment and nervousness in his voice.

Ricardo sighed. "Honestly, I don't even know if he ever stopped."

"Do you think he's okay?"

Ricardo could see the concern in his brother's eyes. He didn't want to worry him because it had been a long time since Julio had gotten out of the house to hang out with old friends. "I'm sure he's fine."

"Have you talked to his mom or step-dad? Or anyone in his family?"

"I guess I could text Megan. I still have her number in my phone."

"Well, let me know what she says."

The front door opened and closed.

"Alright, I will," Ricardo said, then he saw Rhett enter the kitchen. He nodded towards him. "Long time, no see."

"I know, right? It took a lot of convincing to get Julio out of bed," he said, patting his friend's shoulder. "Do you have anything on you? I'm so broke right now. I've been tapped out for a week."

"No, I don't have anything. I've been so busy at work lately, it's a wonder that I've even found time to sleep."

"Well, shit."

"You ready to go?" Julio asked him.

"Yeah. Oh, hey, are you still friends with Drake?"

Ricardo and Julio gave him their full attention.

"I mean, I remember all the rumors that circled him in high school, but Jesus, I think some of them are actually true. Last month, I saw him pimping his ass out at that truck stop right off the exit."

Ricardo's brows furrowed. "How do you know?"

"I was sitting in my dad's tractor because it was so cold and I was talking to my mom on the phone. I saw him approach this old man - like, really old. The same age as my grandpa probably. The guy gives him money, they go into his truck for a few minutes, and then Drake comes back out. I was off the phone at that point, so I went up to him. He looked like shit. He was definitely strung out on something. He was shaking, snot dripping down his chin, blood all over his shirt. He was out of it. He was just walking around completely clueless to the fact that it looked like he'd just murdered someone. He didn't even know who I was. He asked me for money, but you know, I didn't really wanna get involved in whatever it was that he was doing."

Julio looked at Ricardo.

"Don't worry about it, alright?" his brother said, patting his shoulder. "I'll go out and look for him. You go have fun, okay?"

Julio nodded. "Text me if you find out anything."

The two boys left, so Ricardo went back to his sandwich. He picked up the knife and dipped it into the mayonnaise as he tried to formulate a plan in his head. Where would he even begin his search for Drake? He could be anywhere. After hearing Rhett's story, he felt completely heartbroken. Why hadn't Drake come to him?! Well, he knew why, but it still frustrated him. Now the boy who was like a brother to him was out there fucking strangers for money.

Ricardo suddenly angrily tossed the knife into the sink. "Goddamnit!" He took in deep breaths and rested his palms against the counter as an attempt to calm himself.

* * *

"Are you ready to order?" A middle-aged waitress with fiery red hair set a coffee mug and cream down in front of Ricardo.

"This is it for me. Thanks."

"Alright, sugar. Let me know if you need anything."

The man turned his gaze back towards the window. This is the last place that Drake had been spotted. He wasn't sure how often his old pal came here or if it had just been a one-time thing, but maybe a miracle would happen and he would see Drake stumbling around the line of tractors outside.

Ricardo picked up one of the creamers, tore off the top, then poured it into his coffee. He sighed. He couldn't imagine what on earth Drake must be going through to have to resort to this. His father was dead, but he was sure that the sexual abuse had a lasting effect on the boy. Drake was so used to having sex when he didn't want to that maybe a part of him felt like this was normal - that this was acceptable. It's not. Normal people don't just walk up to complete strangers and offer up their bodies.

Maybe Rhett had been overreacting. It was definitely a possibility. In case it wasn't obvious, Rhett was kind of an asshole. It sickened him to see the way the boy had told his story as if there was some sort of excitement in it or something. What a jerk. Ricardo didn't like him, but he was just glad to see Julio get out of the house. At this point, he didn't care who he was going out with. Well, take that back. He definitely cared. He couldn't imagine if his brother got into the wrong kind of crowd and ended up like Drake. He wasn't sure he could handle two Drake's. Chasing this one around the city was enough.

Ricardo picked up his coffee, then took a sip. He heard his phone ding and hoped that it was Megan texting him back. He pulled it out of his pocket.

 **Megan P: no, I haven't seen him in a while**

 **Ricardo: You havent heard from him or anything?**

 **Megan P: no, he went to get some money with walter & thats the last I've seen him**

 **Ricardo: Do u think Walter knows?**

 **Megan P: I can ask hold on**

Ricardo set his phone down on the tabletop. To be honest, he was kind of irritated with Drake's step-father. He understood kicking Drake out, especially after what Mindy had described about the dealers breaking in. He had a family to protect. But completely cutting all ties with him? That's fucked up. And why, why, _why_ hadn't Drake come to him before allowing it to get to this point?!

 **Megan P: can't get anything out of him he never wants to talk about it**

Ricardo couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. _Fuck this shit._ He opened his contacts list and found Walter's number, then pressed call. Moments later, there was an answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, this is Ricardo: Drake's friend."

"Oh, hey. I remember who you are."

"I'm trying to get in touch with him. I haven't been able to find him."

"I don't think he has a cell phone anymore," the man said.

"Right, but Mindy said he left with you one night and never came back."

"Yes, that's true."

Ricardo waited for him to say more, but he didn't. "Well, do you have any idea where he would've gone?"

"I'm not sure." Walter wasn't any help at all.

"Do you even care? I mean, did you know he's pimping himself out on the streets?"

"I am aware of one occurrence that he did this, yes. He owed money to dangerous thugs and it ended up costing my family a great deal of pain."

"He's your family, too."

"When he decided he wanted drugs and that whole lifestyle, he left our family. Family does not hurt one another. It doesn't mean I love him any less. I just refuse to watch him ruin his life and the lives of the people who love him just so that he can get a quick fix for his problems."

Ricardo didn't want to fight with him. "Look, I just need to find him. Is there anything you could tell me about what happened after you paid his debt? Something he said that could tell me where he's gone?"

"We didn't say much," Walter replied. "I told him to leave and he left."

Ricardo was growing more and more frustrated by the second. "This is your son's life here!"

"Have you ever stopped to think that maybe the reason you haven't found him yet is because he doesn't want to be found? He's a junkie," Walter said. "I have offered to get him help - pay for his rehab - multiple times. He turned it down. He could've come back if he wanted to. He doesn't want to."

"So that's it? You just toss him to the curb? You just give up on him?"

"I did what I had to do to keep my family safe. Have you seen them lately? My son was almost beaten to death. Mindy was forced into labor because of the stress of having a gun pointed at her. Megan jumps every time she hears a noise because she thinks those gangsters are gonna come back and kill everyone. And my wife is in a fucking wheelchair. Because of him. All because of him."

"He still needs you."

"Well, I guess he's just gonna have to settle for you," Walter said. "And I _do_ hope you find him. I want him to get better, too, but I can't sit back and watch him destroy his own life and his mother's life in the process," Walter said. "This conversation is over. Best of luck to you." Before Ricardo could say anything more, the man hung up.

"Fucking prick," he whispered to himself, then set his phone down.

He tried to calm himself and not be so irritated. He knew that Walter made sense. Drake was a sinking ship. Walter had tried and tried to patch up the holes, but Drake kept ripping the bandages off and allowing himself to drown. At some point, one must grab a lifeboat and take care of himself first. Walter had done everything he possibly could, and unfortunately, his everything wasn't enough. That thought probably kept the man awake every night. He'd made a tough decision, and he had to live with it. The only thing he could do was hope for the best and move on. At some point, Ricardo would have to do the same, but right now, he refused to let Drake sink alone.

* * *

Julio quietly closed the front door, then made his way up the steps. He was exhausted. It was four in the morning, and he had wanted to leave that party hours ago. Thank God they ran out of alcohol. Otherwise, Julio was sure that Rhett never would've left.

As Julio tip-toed down the hall, he glanced through the cracked door into his brother's room and saw that he was awake and staring at the ceiling. He softly rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, then pushed it open. "You're up?"

"Yeah. How'd it go today? You were gone a long time."

"It was okay. We hung at his house for most of the day, and then he wanted to go to some party." Julio took a couple steps inside and sat down on the corner of the bed after his older brother moved his feet over. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Not really."

"No luck finding Drake then, I suppose?"

Ricardo shook his head. "We'll find him, though. I'm sure he's okay, so you don't have to stress about it."

"But if he's not? I mean...you heard what Rhett said."

"He's Drake. He's tough. He'll be fine."

"I hope so." Julio stood. "I'm gonna go to sleep. I'm fucking tired."

"Goodnight," Ricardo said, then watched as his brother left the room.

He sighed, then sat up. There had to be something more that he could do than sit around. He wasn't going to find Drake here, but what could he do? He'd already searched all the places he could think of: the park, the truck stop, Rhinestone's, Kenzly's, Gemini's. How on earth does someone completely disappear from the face of the planet without leaving behind a single trace of where they've gone. For all Ricardo knew, Drake could've hitchhiked to Colorado or Las Vegas or New York. He could be thousands of miles away from here. When your entire family has bailed on you and you have no place to go, you have nothing to lose. Why not travel the world? Why be shelterless, starving, and strung out here when you could be shelterless, starving, and strung out in the Big Apple? That's where he and Meelah had planned on moving together, right? If Ricardo had no ties to his family or his job here, he wouldn't stick around either.

The truth is that he didn't think he would ever find Drake. The boy who was like a little brother to him was gone from his life permanently. He'd never see him again, nor would he be able to tease him when he said something embarrassing while stoned or yell at him when he did something stupid. He was just gone, and that was that.

* * *

 _(1 week later)_

Julio poured himself a cup of coffee, then grabbed the cream and sugar from nearby.

"You're just now getting up?" Ricardo asked as he entered the kitchen with the mail in his hand. He set the envelopes on the countertop and took a seat on the bar stool.

"It took me forever just to fall asleep last night."

"Are you sure coffee's the smart choice? You shouldn't be drinking that with all the anxiety attacks you've been having lately."

"I'll regret it later, but for now, I'm living in the moment." Julio stood on the opposite side of the island and took a sip of his coffee. "You work tonight?"

"Yeah." Ricardo flipped through the mail to see if anything was important.

"Can you bring home some of those bacon mac and cheese bites? I've been craving those forever."

"Yeah." Ricardo pulled out a small piece of paper with a picture on the front. He flipped it over and read the back, then tossed it towards Julio. "Mom sent a postcard from Mexico."

Julio picked it up and read it. "How long did she say she was visiting Abuelita?"

Ricardo had a wrinkle in his forehead as he answered in a question because he wasn't sure either. "Two weeks?" He shrugged, then tossed the junk mail into the trash.

Julio stood and put the postcard on the refrigerator with a magnet. "I hope she brings back some pozoles."

"That sounds so good right about now," Ricardo said. "I haven't had those in forever."

"I think you're just hungry."

"I think I am." He started to search for something to eat for lunch, but stopped when his cell phone rang. He looked at the screen, his brows furrowed. "It's Drake's step-dad."

Julio stood and moved closer. "Answer it. Maybe it's Drake."

Ricardo accepted the call. "Hello?"

It definitely wasn't Drake. "Hi, this is Walter, Drake's step-father."

"Oh, hey. What's up?" He met Julio's eager eyes and shook his head.

Julio frowned.

"You haven't heard from Drake yet?" Walter asked.

"No, sir."

"Well, I thought of something that he said. Maybe it might help. I'm not sure."

"What is it?"

"That morning when everything went down with the thugs - I forgot that he called the night before all the chaos and tried to ask for money. He got really angry when I told him no, and he started trying to blame me for what was happening in his life. He mentioned that he was living with some teacher - one that used to molest him during school hours. Did you know anything about that?"

"No. I didn't."

Ricardo felt sick to his stomach. Just when you think you know Drake, a dozen more secrets come bubbling up to the surface.

"That was almost two and a half months ago. I'm not sure if he'd still be there. But this teacher will probably know more on his whereabouts than us if not," Walter said. "He's never mentioned this to you? You have no idea which teacher this could be?"

"No, but I can find out."

"Look, I still stick by what I said. I don't want Drake to come back here. My family has been through too much because of him, and I won't let him cause them anymore pain. But I do still care, and I want him to be safe, so I hope you find him and can get him on the right path."

"I will," Ricardo promised. After they said their goodbyes, he looked at Julio.

"Well? Is Drake okay?" the boy asked impatiently.

"He still hasn't seen him." Before Julio's face could twist into disappointment, he added, "But he thinks he may know where he could be."

"That's great! Where?"

"Julio..." Ricardo motioned for him to sit down, so he did. "Has Drake ever mentioned...a teacher...who touched him inappropriately?"

Julio looked confused. "What?"

"Mr. Nichols said that Drake once mentioned living with a teacher who used to...molest him."

"Oh my God." The young man looked heartbroken. "Jesus Christ.

"He never said anything?"

"Actually, he did mention it once. We were at a party. Remember? When you made him convince me to go out? We were playing Truth or Dare or Never Have I Ever or something. Rhinestone had read his journal and called him out in front of everyone for sucking off his teacher to get an A. He got really upset and we went back to his dad's. He took a bunch of pills and told me everything. It was Coach Tad. There was a whole blackmailing situation going on. He somehow found out that his dad was abusive, and he threatened to expose him if Drake didn't let him touch him in his office. And you know how much Drake wanted to keep the abuse under wraps."

"Pedazo de mierda." Ricardo felt crushed. He couldn't understand why his friend was forced to suffer through so many bad experiences.

"So what do we do?"

The man glanced at his watch. "I'll stop by on my way to work. I'll see if he knows anything."

* * *

"Drake? What the fuck? I've been calling you for the last five minutes," Tad said from the doorway. Sarcastically, he added, "Thanks for helping put the groceries up." He still didn't receive any sort of acknowledgement. "Drake!" He playfully smacked the boy's ass.

"Mmm," Drake moaned. He was clearly fucked up out of his mind. He was like this a lot lately.

"Jesus, you've been laying in bed for a week straight. When are you gonna get up?"

"Mmm, inna minute."

"Well, come on. I feel like I haven't even seen you in forever."

Drake was back to being silent again, so Tad leaned over the boy, who was laying on his stomach. He gave him a couple flirtatious kisses on the cheek. Drake, still out of it, forced a smile as if he was into the romantic gesture.

"Guess what came for you today?" the man whispered in his ear, and then Drake started to move. "I thought that'd get you up. Hey, go brush your teeth first. Your breath smells like vomit."

Tad was pretty sure this had to be the first time in a week that Drake had gotten out of bed for anything other than to use the bathroom. The boy would've starved had Tad not been force-feeding him. He was beginning to get the idea that Drake was depressed although he didn't act like it when he was spoken to. He stayed high all day long - not "take the edge off" high, but somewhere between "tripping balls" and "passed the fuck out" high - and he never got out of bed.

"Shit!" Tad helped Drake stand after he fell. "Are you okay?!"

"Yeah."

Drake made his way into the master bathroom. Tad watched just to make sure he wouldn't fall again. He was half concerned and half amused by the way the boy's legs moved. Although Drake was trying hard to act normal, he was walking as if he were on the moon. When he finally arrived at the sink, he reached his arm out for his toothbrush, and it took about a full five seconds for him to actually grasp it because he couldn't tell how far away his hand was. He then went for the toothpaste, but accidentally knocked the toothbrush holder onto the floor.

"Shit," he mumbled. Everything was spinning. Everything was far away. It was like looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, but if the binoculars were actually kaleidoscopes filled with four broken toothbrush holders swirling around his head.

Tad hurried over to him before he could cut himself on the broken glass and grabbed his hand. "I got it." He picked up the larger shards and tossed them into the waste basket.

"I'm so sorry," Drake said guiltily. He thought it was a much bigger deal than it actually was.

"It's fine."

"Are you mad at me?"

"It's really okay. I can pick up another one at the dollar store."

"I just had a sudden pain in my arm and must've jerked it that way." Since he was high, his excuse didn't exactly make much sense, but he didn't want to make it obvious how high he was. Epic fail.

"Don't worry about it." Tad looked up and saw that the toothpaste that Drake was pressing out of the tube was missing the brush by a long shot. "Here. Let me help. I might as well brush your teeth for you." And he did.

Tad made a mental note to have Drake shower with him tonight. He was pretty sure that he was lacking in everything hygiene-related this week. His hair was oily, and Drake had been wearing those same pajamas day and night for a while now.

"You hungry?"

Drake was too high to hold his eyes open, so he stood there blindly and said, "No."

Tad led him into the kitchen and watched as Drake stumbled against the wall. Drake tried to pretend that he had fallen against the wall on purpose to hide how high he was, so he slid against the wall the rest of the way down the hall. Tad admired the commitment with a grin, then helped him towards the kitchen table, where a brown box was located. Drake was delighted to see that two of the many smaller boxes of cough medicine that were inside were already open and waiting for him. He swallowed down the pills in no time, chasing them down with the warm, half-empty can of soda that was sitting nearby.

"Don't I get a thank you?" Tad said.

Drake gave him a quick peck on the lips, said "Thanks," then continued kissing him.

His breath was much better now, Tad noticed as he put his hands on the boy's ass. Drake knew what he wanted. He reached down and started to unbuckle the man's belt. He unhooked the button and slid down the zipper. Tad lifted him up and set him down on the table. He reached for one of the nearby sacks and pulled out a tube of lubricant, then put it into Drake's hand. As Tad nibbled on his neck, Drake squirted some of the lube onto his hand, then reached down and gripped the man's penis. Tad moaned at his touch. As he lathered him up, he whispered dirty things like what he wanted Tad to do to him and how much he needed it. The man went from flaccid to erect in no time. Drake, too, was aroused. It was something that, a month ago, he would've been ashamed of, but now, he no longer felt above the idea of letting this guy help him achieve an orgasm. Thanks to Molly, he'd learned that anal sex wasn't so bad. To be clear, he'd prefer if none of this was happening at all, but since it was, why should Tad be the only one having all the fun?

Tad grabbed the boy's hips and yanked his crotch closer, feeling Drake's bulge against his own. He leaned the boy back on the top of the table, pulled off his pajamas and boxers, then allowed the young man to rest his bent legs in his hands so that he had easier access to his anus. Tad wasn't a fan of doggy-style; he preferred to face his sex partner.

Drake gave him words of encouragement, urging the man to start thrusting into him, so Tad did. Minutes went by of moaning and grunting and dirty talk. Drake was close to his climax, so to increase the pleasure he would feel, he started tugging on himself while Tad continued to pump his thick member into him.

"I want you to cum on yourself and let me lick it off," Tad said.

"Oh, hell no!" Suddenly, a new voice entered the conversation. It was Ricardo. He slammed the door behind himself, stomped into the kitchen, then grabbed Tad and shoved him onto the floor.

Drake was horrified. His face went a bright shade of pink as he put his feet back onto the floor. His old friend kicked Tad's face, and blood splattered through the air. Just as Ricardo wound his fist back, Drake grabbed it.

"Stop!" he cried.

However, Ricardo was too enraged. He angrily slung his arm back, knocking Drake onto his ass as well, then he went back to hitting Tad, who was curled up in a ball.

"Ricky, stop it!" Drake screamed.

"Put on some goddamn pants and get in the car!"

The boy quickly reached for his PJs and put them on. He pushed himself out of the floor, then once again tried to pull the man away. "Please, stop! You're hurting him!"

Drake was no match for Ricardo's strength, but soon, he became such an annoyance that the man turned on him. He violently shoved Drake against the kitchen counter and smacked him. "What the hell is the matter with you?! Huh?!" He hit him again as if it would somehow knock some sense into him.

"Ricky, stop!" Drake was so humiliated that he was crying.

"I can't believe you would stoop this low! This is fucking disgusting!"

"Ricky!" Drake buried his head in his arms to protect his face. "Ricardo!"

The man stopped hitting him, then stiffly pointed a finger towards the front door. "Get your ass in the car before I beat you into next week!" He turned his attention back to Tad, who was writhing around in pain on the floor. He continued taking his anger out on the half-naked man. "I swear to God if you ever touch him again-"

"Ricky, please, stop! It's okay!"

This statement seemed to piss him off even more. He snatched Drake by the back of his neck and dragged him over to the front door, where a mirror was hanging. "You think this is okay?! Look at yourself!"

He forced the boy to stare at his reflection. Drake's shoulders were tensed and lifted high because the way that his old friend was gripping him caused him pain.

"Look at what these drugs have done to you! Look what they've made you do! Do you even know who you are anymore?!"

Drake felt so ashamed. Tears poured down his thin, pale, sickly-looking face.

"You're sleeping with the guy who fucking molested you?! What the fuck's the matter with you?! You're fucking sick!"

Drake let go of his sobs. He couldn't get any words out, but he didn't know what to say anyway. He started to hang his head with shame, but Ricardo roughly shook him, forcing him to hold the pathetic gaze of his reflection.

"You had everything! You had a fresh start, and you just threw it away, you stupid son of a bitch! Look at yourself!"

"I'm sorry," Drake said, although he wasn't sure if his apology was directed towards Ricardo or himself. He choked on his sobs, and snot dribbled over his lips.

"Get the hell out of my house!" Tad yelled at Ricardo after recovering from his beating. He was still laying on the floor, but at least he could see straight again.

Drake felt guilty. He knew Ricardo was pissed, but he didn't have to take it out on Tad. He yanked himself out of Ricky's grip and went over to the man, then squatted in front of him to check on him.

"Drake, I'm gonna give you ten fucking seconds to get in my car. Ten..."

"Please, just leave."

"Nine..." Impatiently, he skipped ahead a bit. "Three... Two..."

Drake hopped onto his feet when Ricardo lunged for him. He fell backwards onto the kitchen table to avoid being grabbed.

"Get in the car!"

The young man nervously said, "Look, I-I don't wanna go, alright?"

"What?" Ricardo was angry. "You'd rather stay here and get your dick sucked by fucking Swifty here?!" he yelled, referring to Tad as the perverted gym coach from _The Basketball Diaries_ \- a reference that they would both understand.

"Just go."

"He's in love with me," Tad said.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Ricardo said, giving him a hard kick to the jaw.

"Ricky, please!" Drake yelled.

The man looked at him, then his eyes dropped down to the box that was next to him on the table. There were at least two dozen packages of cough medicine inside.

"You want me to leave?" Ricardo said. "Then you look me in the eyes and tell me you're in love with him and that you're not just letting him stick his penis in you for drugs."

Drake couldn't stop crying. He wanted to die. Never had he been so humiliated. "Just leave."

"No, I wanna hear you say it."

The young man swallowed, then looked over at Tad, who seemed to be waiting just as eagerly to hear his words. _God, this is so degrading._ He'd told the coach that he loved him plenty of times before. Why was it so hard to now that someone else was listening?

"I'm waiting," Ricardo said.

"Go on. Tell him, Drake. Drake, tell him." Tad's eyes watered over, and he wore the most heartbreaking expression on his face. "Drake?"

However, Drake remained silent. He hung his head to avoid meeting Tad's hurt stare.

"That's what I thought. Drake, get in the car." His words were firm, and even though he said this quieter than the previous times, it was still scary enough to make Drake obey.

Drake pushed himself off of the table, but before he took any steps, he grabbed the box full of pills.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Ricardo smacked it out of his hand, causing the young man to flinch. "Go!" He pointed. He followed right behind Drake and pushed him out the door as Tad started calling after him in tears.

* * *

The car ride had been filled with a lot of yelling, but Drake couldn't exactly hear much of it. He had passed out sometime after hearing the man call out of work. His pills were kicking in hard, but that was expected. He had been non-stop binge-taking his Triple C's. If he were to guess, he would estimate that he'd taken roughly thirty boxes in the last week alone. That's close to five hundred pills. How was he not dead yet? What was God waiting for?

"Hey." Ricardo tapped his cheek. "Wake up."

"Mmm," Drake moaned.

"Come on. You gotta walk inside."

Ricardo helped him out of the car. Drake's legs were like jelly. Every now and then, the tips of his toes would scrape against the concrete as he was dragged until he came to again and took a few stumbles forward. After they made it inside, the man went through the kitchen to head upstairs. Just when they were about to take that first step, he accidentally lost his grip on the boy. Drake fell face-first against the staircase.

"Shit!" Ricardo came to his aid quickly. Upon flipping the boy over, he found that his nose was busted and bleeding.

"Gmm," Drake groaned absently.

"Jesus! Is that Drake?" Julio said when he turned the corner on the staircase.

"Help me get him to the guest room."

Julio quickly obliged. It was much easier to make progress with two people. When they pushed through the bedroom door, they carefully laid him down on the bed, his feet hanging off of the foot.

"Jesus, you found him like this?!" Julio asked.

"He was more coherent when I found him. I think he took something before I got there and it kicked in in the car."

"So he really was sleeping with Coach Tad." Julio examined his old best friend. "Was he hitting him?"

"I may have been a little too heated. When I got there...I just lost it. It was bad. They were literally... _going at it_ when I showed up. Drake kept trying to stand up for him - that fucking pervert. I think Drake had him convinced that he was in love with him so he'd buy him drugs. The coach seemed upset and confused about the whole thing."

"Fuck."

"I need to clean that blood off of him. It's dripping all over the comforter. Do you think you could whip him up something to eat? Like, something greasy? Maybe it'll help sober him up. I don't know what the fuck to do."

"Yeah, of course."

The two went their separate ways - Julio downstairs and into the kitchen and Ricardo down the hall and into the bathroom. The older brother grabbed a washcloth and wet it. As he did this, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. He felt extremely guilty and partly responsible for what Drake was going through. He couldn't help but think that maybe if he hadn't given Drake his first hit of marijuana, the gateway drug, then things wouldn't have escalated to this. Maybe if he hadn't been so busy with work, maybe if he had paid more attention, maybe if he had tried to reach out a little more... Maybe this could've all been avoided.

He couldn't stop replaying that scene in his head. Walking into that house and seeing... Just thinking about it made his stomach churn. Drake had felt alone. He'd felt abandoned. He'd felt like he'd had no one else to turn to. What had Ricardo done wrong? He'd tried so hard, and still, Drake's addiction has spiraled further and further out of control until...

Suddenly, the man broke down. Seeing his friend this way broke his heart. Tears flooded his cheeks in an instant. He couldn't imagine how Drake had allowed himself to lose his dignity completely and run to some guy who had molested him. He chose Coach Tad over him - a pedophile vs. a guy who was like an older brother. He was in so much mental pain that he preferred to sleep with some guy because he could take his pills and numb his mind rather than stay with Ricardo and have a friend who was willing to talk him through this, but whilst sober. He'd probably stayed with his former coach for a couple months. There was no telling how many times he had been forced to spread his legs for him. _Forced_ was hardly the right word. Drake hadn't even wanted to leave. He _wanted_ to stay there and go on allowing Tad to sleep with him. He never needed to be rescued. He'd been perfectly content with where he had been.

Ricardo spent the next ten minutes going through a mental breakdown and then trying hard to gain his composure back. He took in a breath, then calmly exhaled. He turned the water on again to get the now drying out rag wet again, then he splashed some water onto his face and his warm cheeks. He made his way back towards the guest room, and when he stepped inside, he froze. Drake was laying at the foot of the bed like they had left him, only now, he had vomit running down the side of his jaw and his face was a pale shade of blue.

"Fuck! JULIO, CALL AN AMBULANCE!" Ricardo rushed over to his unconscious friend, then turned him onto his side and scooped the puke out of his mouth, too terrified to feel disgusted. "Oh, fuck! Drake, wake up!"

Within seconds, Julio burst into the room so fast that the doorknob forced a hole into the wall. "Oh my God! What the hell?!"

"Come on, Drake. Don't fucking do this now. You can't fucking do this now."

"Is he dead?" Julio was frozen in his spot by the door.

Ricardo had his hand an inch above the boy's mouth. "He's not breathing," he said with panic in his voice. "Oh, fuck."

"I thought you were watching him!"

"Did you call an ambulance?" When he didn't receive an answer, he turned to his brother. "Did you call a fucking ambulance?!"

"Uh..." Julio peeled his eyes away from his best friend's limp body. "Uh..."

"Julio! Come on, bro! I need you!"

The boy blinked, then bounced on his feet. He was in shock, but he knew he had to snap himself out of it. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911.

"I don't know what to do!" Ricardo said.

"They taught CPR in health class back in your day, right?"

"Yeah, but...that was forever ago. I never paid attention in class. If I do it wrong, I could make it worse."

"If you don't do anything, he's gonna die from lack of oxygen." Julio turned his attention to the phone when he heard an answer.

Ricardo tilted Drake's head back, then opened his mouth. He leaned forwards, encircled the boy's blue-tinted lips with his own, then blew into his mouth twice. After this, he started doing chest compressions.

"He overdosed on somethi — not too hard! You'll break his ribs!"

"I don't know if I'm doing this right." Ricardo suddenly regretted not paying attention in health class.

"I think you're doing it too fast. Remember on that episode of _The Office_ when that lady said to do it to the beat of _Staying Alive_."

"That's a fucking comedy show, Julio!"

"Maybe it's true."

The person on the other end of the line got Julio's attention again.

"She said it's fine. Do it that way." He went back to talking to her, telling her exactly what happened leading up to this point and giving her a play-by-play of what was currently going on.

Suddenly, just as Ricardo blew more air into the boy's mouth, vomit exploded from Drake's lips. Ricardo was too scared to be repulsed. He wiped his mouth off.

"Drake?!" He quickly turned the boy onto his side so that it wouldn't get lodged into his throat and cause him to choke again.

"She said it's okay. Check if he's breathing," Julio said.

Ricardo did. "Oh my God."

Julio stepped closer with worry.

"He's actually breathing." He seemed to be in disbelief that he'd been able to save the boy for the time being.

"She said the ambulance should be here in five minutes."

Ricardo brushed Drake's hair out of his eyes, then wiped off his face. Color was gradually starting to return to his skin. He looked at his brother, who was clearly shaken up.

"You alright?" he asked.

Julio's fingers were shaking, and he spoke in between his pants for air. "I'm having a panic attack."

Ricardo didn't know what to do in this situation. It felt like they had tried everything to lessen Julio's anxiety, but there were still days that he couldn't get out of bed. They'd come close to losing Drake, and that was scary. Ricardo's adrenaline was pumping as well, but it was different for Julio. He was struggling to breathe, choking on his own invisible fears. It was clear that he was trying to be strong, but it was hard.

His older brother pushed himself to his feet, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he wrapped his arms around Julio and squeezed him tightly. Maybe the weight and the pressure and the sense of security would calm him. Ricardo rubbed his back.

"I'll go to the hospital with him. Why don't you lay down? He's gonna be fine."

"I just feel like I should be there."

"You've done enough. You have to take care of yourself, too," Ricardo said. "I can call you as soon as he wakes up. And I'll leave the car so you can come whenever you feel like it. I'll ride in the ambulance with him."

Julio felt guilty, but he gave in. "I'll probably be fine in an hour and head up there."

Ricardo pulled away and went back over to Drake. He picked up the washcloth he had brought and started cleaning the vomit off of the boy.

"Should we call his parents or something?"

"No, I don't think they're on speaking terms right now."

"But they're his family."

"His step-dad made it clear that he didn't wanna be involved."

"What a prick."

"He's a good guy," Ricardo said. "It's understandable after everything. He tried his hardest."

He wondered if the same thing would happen here. He knew that the road ahead was a long, rough, painful one. He knew that it wouldn't be easy. Walter had done everything he could to turn Drake's life around. People started getting hurt, and he was forced to cut the rope attached to the lifesaver his step-son has clung to for so long. Drake had been stranded and floating around lost in the ocean alone for months. Ricardo's boat had pulled up next to him just in time. Who knows where Drake would be had he not found him? Who knows how long he would've gone on splashing around in the deep, trouble water until he finally succumbed to his exhaustion and drowned?

* * *

Drake's face contorted. It was like he had gone from not existing to having a horrible pain in his stomach and throat. He opened his eyes and blinked. Although most of the lights were off and the room was dim, it was harsh on the eyes since Drake had been hiding behind his eyelids for...how long had he been out? He felt sore, weak, and exhausted. It was like a train had hit him right in the gut. He knew this feeling. He'd felt it twice before: the last two times he'd had his stomach pumped because of an overdose - one accidental and one not. This time, he hadn't meant to take so many. He didn't really keep up with how many pills he was swallowing anymore. There was really no need to. If he lived, great; if he died, well, it's about fucking time.

Drake didn't remember the last two months well, but he knew that he was staying with Coach Tad, so where was he? _What day is it? Maybe he's at school._ It was pretty pathetic to almost die and wake up alone in a hospital bed. There was no one in the world left who cared about him, and it really hit him now. After the countless times he'd ended up in the hospital over the last year, not once did he ever wake up and find himself alone. It's like you're alive and no one's there to celebrate it. You don't even wanna be there to celebrate it either.

Drake reached over for the remote so that he could call a nurse. He felt lazy and fatigued as he picked it up, so it was no surprised that it slipped right out of his hand and landed on the floor. "Godda-" Speaking for the first time after getting his stomach pumped sent a wave of pain through his throat. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry, which only made the burning sensation worse. He erupted into a coughing fit, which made his abdomen ache.

At that moment, the door cracked open. Ricardo was standing outside on the phone. "But anyway, I've gotta go. He's waking up." Pause. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks for covering my shift." Pause. "Okay. See you later." The man hung up the phone, then entered the room. "You want some water?"

"Ricky?" Drake said in between his coughs. It was clear that he was confused.

His friend grabbed a cup of water and pointed the straw towards Drake's lips. The boy sucked on it, coughed some more, panted for breath, and then repeated the process until he was no longer coughing.

"How are you feeling?" Ricardo asked after setting the cup down.

"My stomach hurts."

"Yeah, no shit."

 _Is he mad? He sounds mad._ "I wanna go home."

"Home? Yeah? And where's that, Drake?"

 _He's definitely mad._

Since Drake didn't reply, Ricardo took it upon himself to answer his own question. "With your fucking gym coach? The one that supplies you with drugs so that, in return, he can bend you over the counter and stick his dick inside of you?"

Drake could recall faint memories of a big fight between the three of them. He'd much rather have his sleeping partner here crying and blaming himself and saying things like, _"I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost you."_ "Where's Tad?"

"Where's Tad?!" This seemed to piss Ricardo off. "Don't make me slap the shit out of you right now."

"Fuck you," Drake dared. "Just fucking leave. Everyone else does." He whispered that last part.

"Well, geez, Drake. Why the hell do you think that is?" His voice was getting progressively louder. "Could it be that they're just sick of watching you fucking kill yourself?!"

"I don't need to hear this from you."

"Yeah-" Ricardo snatched his shirt when the boy turned away with irritation. "Yeah, you do."

"Get the fuck off of me."

"I mean, do you sincerely feel good about letting this guy put his hands all over you? Because it's fucking disgusting," he said in a serious tone and he nodded and lifted his eyebrows with judgement.

"I'm a piece of shit. I'm scum. I know. I've heard it all before."

"No, you're neither of those things," Ricardo said. "What you are is a prostitute."

"I'm not."

"Admit it."

"No, I'm not," Drake said in a firmer tone.

Ricardo pulled out his cell phone and started typing. "Do you know what the definition of a prostitute is?" When the webpage pulled up, he read from it. "A person who engages in sexual activity for payment. Does that really not sound like you?"

"Get out."

"Come on. Answer the question."

"Leave!"

Ricardo pulled out his wallet. "Jesus, I'll pay you for your time if that's what you want. Here!" He tossed a couple bills onto the blanket that covered Drake's legs, and this act made the boy's eyes water over as he stared at the money. "What do you charge for full penetration? Twenty bucks?" He tossed down another ten. "Thirty? Huh?"

Drake's nose flared and his bottom lip trembled even though he tried to keep himself strong.

"Or how about one lousy box of two dollar cough medicine? Is that it? Is that all I'd have to pay to get inside of you? To get my rocks off? A quick high? Is that all you're really worth?"

He felt so ashamed. His face got hot, and it was getting harder and harder to keep his tears back.

"Look at me."

Drake swallowed the lump in his throat, but he couldn't get it to go away.

"I SAID LOOK AT ME, DAMNIT!" Ricardo grabbed his chin and forced him to meet his rage-filled eyes, which were mere inches away.

Drake felt weak when a tear dripped down his cheek. He managed to keep any others from falling, but it was too late. Ricardo had seen him slip. He sniffled.

"Answer my question. Let's say I wanted to fuck you. What do I have to give you to make that happen?"

He'd never felt so embarrassed in his entire life. How had Ricky even found him anyway? How did he know about Tad? He would've preferred waking up alone in the hospital than waking up to this.

"Do you know that strong, intense shame you're feeling right now that's keeping you from answering my question?" Ricardo said. "That's what you should be feeling every time you swallow those pills knowing what you had to do to get them."

The man roughly let him go with a shove. Drake closed his eyes and kept trying to tell himself not to cry.

Ricardo wasn't finished. "I'm so sick of the shit, Drake. How many more times am I gonna have to visit you in a hospital? How many more times until it's your last? All you do is put yourself down about how shitty of a person you are, and you know, I'm done falling for that pity trap," he said. "Because you _are_ acting like a horrible son. You _are_ a selfish brother. You _are_ being a shitty friend. That's all you ever say, but you know what? I don't see you trying to change anything. You just sit there and hope someone will tell you differently so that you hate yourself less. Well, I'm done trying to make you feel better. I'm done being the nice friend. I'm gonna be a _good_ friend. That's something I should've done a long time ago before all of this shit." Ricardo noticed that the boy wouldn't meet his eyes. "You don't have anything to say? Say something!"

Drake kept his mouth closed and his head hung.

"HUH?" He angrily kicked the roll-away meal table next to Drake's bed, causing it to fall over with a loud crash.

The boy flinched. His heart started pounding against his chest. He'd never seen his friend so filled with rage. Sure, they got into their fair share of arguments, but witnessing firsthand this violent side that Ricardo had was frightening to say the least.

The man heard Drake's heart monitor start beeping faster and knew that he was scaring his friend, so he tried to calm himself. "When you get out of here, you're coming home with me, and there will be no more drugs."

"I'm not going with you," Drake mumbled.

"Do you wanna fucking bet?!" he challenged as he stepped closer, but Drake was too terrified to protest further. "I am done sitting around watching you fuck up your life. If you're gonna act like a fucking child, then I'll treat you like one. From now on, I'm not gonna leave your side. You won't be sneaking those pills around me. I hope that last high you had was a great one because you are never gonna feel that good again."

Today is the day that Drake's life is going to take a full one-eighty. Ricardo was sure of it. Whether Drake welcomed the inevitable change or not, it was coming one way or another. The young man was like a little brother to him. Walter had done everything he possibly could, and Ricardo understood that, but he wasn't going to be so quick to toss the boy to the side and give up on him. He refused to let Drake stay on the same route. He _will_ get clean. He _will_ get a job. He _will_ have responsibilities. He _will_ become a decent, functioning member of society. There was so much potential inside of him, and Ricardo was finished watching him piss it all away. All of the dreams Drake had once desired were now gone and replaced with his craving for a quick, euphoric relief, but maybe soon, a piece of his old self will resurface, and the Drake that Ricardo had once known will be back and ready to take on the world one day at a time.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Well, that's it for this story. Kind of a half-assed final chapter, but I couldn't really figure out how else to end it. There will be one more installment in the series, so Drake's story isn't over yet. However, I'm gonna take a break from this story for a while because I'm completely out of ideas to be honest, but the next one will be about his recovery (finally, right?) and it will also have the word _Charlie_ in the title like the first two. Ideas welcome. I have a couple things here and there that I want to have happen, but nothing to connect them.**

 **Thanks to everyone that made it this far. You guys are so great. So here's a response to the reviewers from the last chapter:**

 **Guest who wrote a long review: I appreciate all the criticism and all the nice things you had to say, and hopefully it makes me a better writer. Honestly, I never really liked writing about babies, so I kinda didn't want the baby to be a thing either, but I think I've decided on how I want to deal with it. You'll just have to wait until the next story to find out. ~ About Drake living in his dad's trailer - i remember having that thought, but I just felt like it would've been to unrealistic for Drake to be able to live on his own and support himself. There's no way he would be able to pay bill or buy groceries, so that's why he didn't stay there. ~ I will probably bring Drake's aunt and the kids back in the next story. I just couldn't find a place in this one to make them relevant.  
**

 **Ivan: I love your reviews as always. I'm glad you liked the Ahmed scene. That one was super hard to write, and I never really like it, but I couldn't figure out why, but as long as my audience was into it, then I'm satisfied. I think I spent more concentration on the last two chapters than any other because they were such a change of pace, so that's awesome that you were _that_ into it. ~ The Walter bits are really tricky. A lot of people hate him in this story, but addiction is a really hard thing for everyone involved, and I'm glad you understand that. ~ I don't feel like I wrote Tad's character well because I started out one way with him and then decided halfway through to change his personality completely, but it is what it is. ~ As always, thanks for taking so much time to share all of your thoughts.**

 **Guest who wanted an update: Guessie what!**

 **Pala: I'm glad you liked it so much and that the writing was powerful.**

 **So anyway, hopefully I don't take forever to get out of this writer's block. Until next time. Love you guys.**


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